UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


A.  •  ^ 

y^5- 


HISTOEY 


THE   EARTH 


ANIMATED    NATURE 


BY 


OLIYEE  GOLDSMITH,   M.B. 


A  NEW  EDITION, 
WITH  CORRECTIONS  AND  ALTERATIONS. 


IN  FOUR  VOLUMES. 

VOL.  I. 


NEW  YORK: 

R.  WORTHINGTON,  770   BROADWAY. 

1881 


OL50 

CONTENTS.  . 

„'  /  oo  I 

v.l 

VOL.  1. 

PART  I. 

PIP 

CHAP.  I.  A  Sketch  of  the  Universe    9 

HAP.  II.  A  short  survey  of  the  Globe,  from  the  light  of  Astronomy,  Mid 

'  Geography    11 

OH  A?.  III.  A  view  of  the  surface  of  the  Earth    14 

C^TAP.  IV.  A  review  of  the  different  Theories  of  the  Earth 16 

ChAP.  V.  Fossil-shells  and  other  extraneous  Fossils 23 

CHAP.  VI.  The  internal  structure  of  the  Earth    .     27 

CHAP.  VII.  Caves  and  Subterraneous  Passages  that  sink,  but  not  perpendicu- 
larly, into  the  Earth 32 

CHAP.  VIII.  Mines,  Damps,  and  Mineral  Vapours    36 

CHAP.  IX.  Volcanoes  and  Earthquakes   41 

CHAP.  X.  Earthquakes 47 

CHAP.  XL  The  appearance  of  Islands  and  Tracts;  and  of  the  disappearing 

of  others 55 

CHAP    XII.  Mountains 59 

CHAP   XIII.  Waters 69 

CHAP.  XIV.  The  origin  of  Rivers    , 81 

CHAP.  XV.  The  Ocean  in  general ;  and  of  its  Saltness  94 

CHAP    XVI.  The  Tides,  Motion,  and  Currents  of  the  Sea ;  with  their  effects  102 

CHAP.  XVII.  The  changes  produced  by  the  Sea  upon  the  Earth       110 

CHAP.  XVIII.  A  summary  account  of  the  mechanical  properties  f.-(  the  air  .   121 

CHAP.  XIX.  An  Essay  towards  a  natural  history  of  the  Air 126 

CHAP.  XX.  Winds  regular  and  irregular . . . . 135 

CHAP.  XXI.  Meteors,  and  such  appearances  as  result  from  a  combination  of 

the  Elements    147 

CHAP.  XXII.  The  conclusion 157 


PART  II. 
ANIMALS. 

CHAP.  I.  A  comparison  of  Animals,  with  the  inferior  ranks  of  Creation     . .  ±61 

CEIAP.  II.  The  generation  of  Animals . .  166 

CHAP.  III.  The  infancy  of  Man    179 

CHAP.  IV.  Puberty  186 

CHAP.  V.  The  Age  of  Manhood  189 

HAP.  VI.  Sleep  and  Hunger    206 

CHAP.  VII.  Seeing   214 

CHAP.  VIII.  Hearing   221 

CHAP.  IX.  Smelling,  Feeling,  and  Tasting    227 

CHAP.  X.  Old  age  and  Death 232 

CHAP.  XI.  The  varieties  in  the  Human  Race 239 

CHAP.  XII.  Monsters   251 

CHAP.  XIII.  Mummies,  Wax-works,  &c 260 

CHAP   XIV.  Animals    267 

CHAP.  XV.  Qu;n!rupeds  in  general,  compared  to  Man 275 

431709  (3> 


PREFACE. 


NATURAL  HISTORY,  considered  in  its  utmost  extent,  comprehends 
two  objects.  First,  that  of  discovering,  ascertaining,  and  naming  all 
»he  various  productions  of  Nature.  Secondly,  that  of  describing  the 
properties,  manners,  and  relations  which  they  bear  to  us,  and  to  each 
other.  The  first,  which  is  the  most  difficult  part  of  this  science,  is 
systematical,  dry,  mechanical,  and  incomplete.  The  second  is  more 
amusing,  exhibits  new  pictures  to  the  imagination,  and  improves  our 
relish  for  existence,  by  widening  the  prospect  of  Nature  around  us. 

Both,  however,  are  necessary  to  those  who  would  understand  this 
pleasing  science,  in  its  utmost  extent.  The  first  care  of  every  inquir- 
er, no  doubt,  should  be,  to  see,  to  visit,  and  examine  every  object,  be- 
fore he  pretends  to  inspect  its  habitudes  or  its  history.  From  seeing 
and  observing  the  thing  itself,  he  is  most  naturally  led  to  speculate 
upon  its  uses,  its  delights,  or  its  inconveniences. 

Numberless  obstructions,  however,  are  found  in  this  part  of  his  pur 
suit,  that  frustrate  his  diligence,  and  retard  his  curiosity.  The  objects 
in  Nature  are  so  many,  and  even  those  of  the  same  kind  are  exhibited 
in  such  a  variety  of  forms,  that  the  inquirer  finds  himself  lost  in  the 
exuberance  before  him,  and,  like  a  man  who  attempts  to  count  the  stars, 
unassisted  by  Art,  his  powers  are  all  distracted  in  the  barren  superfluity. 

To  remedy  this  embarrassment,  artificial  systems  have  been  devised, 
which  grouping  into  masses  those  parts  of  Nature  more  nearly  resem- 
bling each  other,  refer  the  inquirer  for  the  name  of  the  single  object 
he  desires  to  know,  to  some  one  of  those  general  distributions,  where 
it  is  to  be  found  by  further  examination. 

If,  for  instance,  a  man  should,  in  his  walks,  meet  with  an  animal, 
the  name,  and  consequently  the  history  of  which,  he  desires  to  know,  he 
is  taught  by  systematic  writers  of  natural  history,  to  examine  its  most  ob- 
vious qualities,  whether  a  quadruped,  a  bird,  a  fish,  or  an  insect.  Having 
determined  it,  for  explanation  sake,  to  be  an  insect,  he  examines 
whether  it  has  wings;  if  he  finds  it  possessed  of  these,  he  is  taught  to 
examine  whether  it  has  two  or  four;  if  possessed  of  four,  he  is  taught 
to  observe,  whether  the  two  upper  wings  are  of  a  shelly  hardness,  and 
serve  as  cases  to  those  under  them ;  if  he  finds  the  wings  composed 
in  this  manner,  he  is  then  taught  to  pronounce,  that  this  insect  is  one 
of  the  beetle  kind  :  of  the  beetle  kind,  there  are  three  different  classes, 
distinguishee?  from  each  other  by  their  feelers;  he  examines  the  insect 
before  him,  and  finds  that  the  feelers  are  clavated  or  knobbed  at  the 
ends ;  of  beetles,  with  feelers  thus  formed,  there  are  ten  kinds ;  and, 
among  those,  he  is  taught  to  look  for  the  precise  name  of  that  which  is 
before  him.  If,  for  instance,  the  knob  be  divided  at  the  ends,  and  the 
belly  be  streaked  with  white,  it  is  no  other  than  the  Dor  or  the  May- 
bug ;  an  animal,  the  noxious  qualities  of  which  give  it  a  very  distin- 
guished rank  in  the  history  of  the  insect  creation.  In  this  manner  a 
system  of  natural  history  .may,  in  some  measure,  be  compared  to  a  dic- 
tionary of  words.  Both  are  solely  intended  to  explain  the  names  of  things; 


vi  PREFACE. 

but  with  this  difference,  that  in  the  dictionary  of  words  we  are  led  from 
the  name  of  the  thing  to  its  definition ;  whereas  in  the  system  of  na- 
tural history,  we  are  led  from  the  definition  to  find  out  the  name. 

Such  are  the  efforts  of  writers,  who  have  composed  their  works  with 
great  labour  and  ingenuity,  to  direct  the  learner  in  his  progress 
through  Nature,  and  to  inform  him  of  the  name  of  every  animal,  plant, 
or  fossil  substance,  that  he  happens  to  meet  with ;  but  it  would  be  only 
deceiving  the  reader,  to  conceal  the  truth,  which  is,  that  books  alone 
can  never  teach  him  this  art  in  perfection;  and  the  solitary  student  can 
never  succeed.  Without  a  master,  and  a  previous  knowledge  of  many 
of  the  objects  of  Nature,  his  book  will  only  serve  to  confound  and  dis- 
gust him.  Few  of  the  individual  plants  or  animals,  that  he  may  hap- 
pen to  meet  with,  are  in  that  precise  state  of  health,  or  that  exact  period 
of  vegetation,  from  whence  their  descriptions  were  taken.  Perhaps  he 
meets  the  plant  only  with  leaves,  but  the  systematic  writer  has  describ- 
ed it  in  a  flower.  Perhaps  he  meets  the  bird  before  it  has  moulted  its 
first  feathers,  while  the  systematic  description  was  made  in  its  state  of 
full  perfection.  He  thus  ranges  without  an  instructor,  confused,  and 
with  sickening  curiosity  from  subject  to  subject,  till  at  last  he  gives 
up  the  pursuit,  in  the  multiplicity  of  his  disappointments. 

Some  practice,  therefore,  much  instruction,  and  diligent  reading, 
are  requisite  to  make  a  ready  and  expert  naturalist,  who  shall  be  able, 
even  by  the  help  of  a  system,  to  find  out  the  name  of  every  object  he 
meets  with.  But  when  this  tedious,  though  requisite  part  of  study  is 
attained,  nothing  but  delight  and  variety  attend  the  rest  of  his  jour- 
ney. Wherever  he  travels,  like  a  man  in  a  country  where  he  hag 
many  friends,  he  meets  with  nothing  but  acquaintances  and  allure- 
ments in  all  the  stages  of  his  way.  The  mere  uninformed  spectator 
passes  on  in  gloomy  solitude ;  but  the  naturalist,  in  every  plant,  in  every 
insect,  and  every  pebble,  finds  something  to  entertain  his  curiosity, 
and  excite  his  speculation. 

From  hence  it  appears,  that  a  system  may  be  considered  as  a  dic- 
tionary in  the  study  of  Navure.  The  ancients,  however,  who  have  all 
written  most  delightfully  on  this  subject,  seem  entirely  to  have  rejected 
those  humble  and  mechanical  helps  to  science.  They  contented 
themselves  with  seizing  upon  the  great  outlines  of  history,  and  pass- 
ing over  what  was  common,  as  not  worth  the  detail,  they  only  dwelt 
upon  what  was  new,  great  and  surprising,  and  sometimes  even  warm- 
ed the  imagination  at  the  expense  of  truth.  Such  of  the  moderns  as 
revived  this  science  in  Europe,  undertook  the  task  more  methodically, 
though  not  in  a  manner  so  pleasing.  Aidrovandus,  Gesner,  and  John- 
son seemed  desirous  of  uniting  the  entertaining  and  rich  descriptions  of 
the  ancients  with  the  dry  and  systematic  arrangement,  of  which  they 
were  the  first  projectors.  This  attempt,  however,  was  extremly  im- 
perfect, as  the  great  variety  of  Nature  was,  as  yet,  but  very  inadequately 
known.  Nevertheless,  by  attempting  to  carry  on  both  objects  at  once, 
first  of  directing  us  to  the  name  of  the  thing,  and  then  giving  the  detail 
of  its  history,  they  drew  out  iheir  works  into  a  tedious  and  unreasonable 
length ;  and  thus,  mixing  incompatible  aims,  they  have  left  their  labours 
rather  to  be  occasionally  consulted,  than  read  with  delight,  by  posterity. 

The  later  moderns,  with  that  good  sense  which  they  have  carried 
int"  every  other  part  of  science,  have  taken  a  different  method 


PREFACE.  vii 

cultivating  natural  history.  They  have  been  content  to  give,  not  only 
the  orevity,  but  also  the  dry  and  disgusting  air  of  a  dictionary  to  theii 
systems.  Ray,  Klin,  Brisson,  and  Linnaeus,  have  had  only  one  aim 
that  of  pointing  out  the  object  in  Nature,  of  discovering  its  name,  and 
where  it  was  to  be  found  in  those  authors  that  treated  of  it  in  a  more 
prolix  and  satisfactory  manner.  Thus  natural  history,  at  present,  is 
carried  on  in  two  distinct  and  separate  channels,  the  one  serving  to 
lead  us  to  the  thing,  the  other  conveying  the  history  of  the  thing,  as 
supposing  it  already  known. 

The  following  Natural  History  is  written,  with  only  such  an  atten- 
tion to  system  as  serves  to  remove  the  reader's  embarrassments,  and 
allure  him  to  proceed.  It  can  make  no  pretensions  in  directing  him 
to  the  name  of  every  object  he  meets  with ;  that  belongs  to  works  of 
a  very  different  kind,  and  written  with  very  different  aims.  It  will  ful- 
ly answer  my  design,  if  the  reader,  being  already  possessed  of  the  name 
of  any  animal,  shall  find  here  a  short,  though  satisfactory  history  of  its 
habitudes,  its  subsistence,  its  manners,  its  friendships,  and  hostilities. 
My  aim  has  been  to  carry  on  just  as  much  method  as  was  sufficient  to 
shorten  my  description,  by  generalizing  them,  and  never  to  follow  order 
where  the  art  of  writing,  which  is  but  another  name  for  good  sense 
informed  me  that  it  would  only  contribute  to  the  reader's  embarrassment. 

Still,  however,  the  reader  will  perceive,  that  I  have  formed  a  kind 
of  system  in  the  history  of  every  part  of  Animated  Nature,  directing 
myself  by  the  great  obvious  distinctions  that  she  herself  seems  to 
have  made ;  wliich,  though  too  few  to  point  exactly  to  the  name 
are  yet  sufficient  to  illuminate  the  subject,  and  remove  the  reader's 
perplexity.  Mr.  Buffon  indeed,  who  has  brought  greater  talents  to 
this  part  of  learning  than  any  other  man,  has  almost  entirely  rejected 
method  in  classing  quadrupeds.  This,  with  great  deference  to  such 
a  character,  appears  to  me  running  into  the  opposite  extreme;  and,  as 
some  moderns  have  of  late  spent  much  time,  great  pains,  and  some 
learning,  all  to  very  little  purpose,  in  systematic  arrangement,  he  seems 
so  much  disgusted  by  their  trifling,  but  ostentatious  efforts,  that  he 
describes  his  animals  almost  in  the  order  they  happen  to  come  before 
him.  This  want  of  method  seems  to  be  a  fault ;  but  he  can  lose  little 
by  a  criticism  which  every  dull  man  can  make,  or  by  an  error  in  ar- 
rangement, from  which  the  dullest  are  the  most  usually  free. 

In  other  respects,  as  far  as  this  able  philosopher  has  gone,  I  have 
taken  him  for  my  guide.  The  warmth  of  his  style,  and  the  brilliancy 
of  his  imagination,  are  inimitable.  Leaving  him,  therefore,  without  a 
rival  in  these,  and  only  availing  myself  of  his  information,  I  have  been 
content  to  describe  things  in  my  own  way ;  and  though  many  of  the 
materials  are  taken  from  him,  yet  I  have  added,  retrenched,  and  al- 
tered, as  I  thought  proper.  It  was  my  intention,  at  one  time,  when- 
ever I  differed  from  him,  to  have  mentioned  it  at  the  bottom  of  the 
page  ;  but  this  occurred  so  often,  that  I  soon  found  it  would  look  like 
envy,  and  might,  perhaps,  convict  me  of  those  very  errors  which  I 
was  wanting  to  lay  upon  him.  I  have,  therefore,  as  being  every  way 
his  debtor,  concealed  my  dissent,  where  my  opinion  was  different , 
but  wherever  I  borrow  from  him,  I  take  care  at  the  bottom  of  the 
page  to  express  my  obligations.  But  though  my  obligations  to  this 
writer  are  many,  they  extend  but  to  the  smallest  part  of  the  WOIK,  as 


rill  PREFACE. 

he  has  hitherto  completed  only  the  history  of  quadrupeds-  1  was 
therefore,  left  to  my  own  reading  alone,  to  make  out  the  history 
of  birds,  fishes,  and  insects,  of  which  the  arrangement  was  so  dil« 
ricult,  and  the  necessary  information  so  widely  diffused,  and  so  ob- 
scurely related  when  found,  that  it  proved  by  much  the  most  labori- 
ous part  of  the  undertaking.  Thus  having  made  use  of  Mr.  Buffon's 
lights  in  the  first  part  of  the  work,  I  may,  with  some  share  of  confidence, 
recommend  it  to  the  public.  But  what  shall  I  say  to  that  part, 
where  I  have  been  entirely  left  without  his  assistance?  As  I  would 
affect  neither  modesty  nor  confidence,  it  would  be  sufficient  to  say 
that  my  reading  upon  this  part  of  the  subject  has  been  very  exten- 
sive ;  and  that  I  have  taxed  my  scanty  circumstances  in  procuring 
books,  which  are  on  this  subject,  of  all  others,  the  most  expensive.  In 
consequence  of  this  industry,  I  here  offer  a  work  to  the  public,  of  a 
kind  which  has  never  been  attempted  in  ours,  or  any  other  modern 
language  that  I  know  of.  The  ancients,  indeed,  and  Pliny  in  partic- 
ular, have  anticipated  me  in  the  present  manner  of  treating  natural  his- 
tory. Like  those  historians  who  describe  the  events  of  a  campaign, 
they  have  not  condescended  to  give  the  private  particulars  of  every  in- 
dividual that  formed  the  army  ;  they  were  content  with  characterizing 
the  generals,  and  describing  their  operations,  while  they  left  it  to 
meaner  hands  to  carry  the  muster-roll.  1  have  followed  their  manner, 
rejecting  the  numerous  fables  which  they  adopted,  and  adding  the  im- 
provements of  the  moderns,  which  are  so  numerous,  that  they  actually 
make  up  the  bulk  of  natural  history. 

The  delight  which  I  found  in  reading  Pliny,  first  inspired  me  with 
the  idea  of  a  work  of  this  nature.  Having  a  taste  rather  classical  than 
scientific,  and  having  but  little  employed  myself  in  turning  over  the 
dry  labours  of  modern  system-makers,  my  earliest  intention  was  to 
translate  this  agreeable  writer,  and  by  the  help  of  a  commentary  to  make 
my  work  as  amusing  as  I  could.  Let  us  dignify  natural  history  nev- 
er so  much  with  the  grave  appellation  of  an  useful  science,  yet  still  we 
must  confess  that  it  is  the  occupation  of  the  idle  and  the  speculative, 
more  than  the  busy,  and  the  ambitious  part  of  mankind.  My  inten- 
tion, therefore,  was  to  treat  what  I  then  conceived  to  be  an  idle  sub- 
ject, in  an  idle  manner;  and  not  to  hedge  round  plain  and  simple 
narratives  with  hard  words,  accumulated  distinctions,  ostentatious 
learning,  and  disquisitions  that  produced  no  conviction.  Upon  the 
appearance,  however, of  Mr.  Buffon's  work,  I  dropped  my  former  plan, 
and  adopted  the  present,  being  convinced,  by  his  manner,  that  the  best 
imitation  of  the  ancients  was  to  write  from  our  own  feelings,  and  to 
imitate  Nature. 

It  will  be  my  chief  pride,  therefore,  if  this  work  may  be  found  an 
innocent  amusement  for  those  who  have  nothing  else  to  employ  them 
or  who  require  a  relaxation  from  labour.  Professed  naturalists  wil1, 
no  doubt,  find  it  superficial ;  and  yet  1  should  hope  that  even  these 
will  discover  hints  and  remarks  gleaned  from  various  readings,  not 
wholly  trite  or  elementary.  I  would  wish  for  their  approbation.  But 
my  chief  ambition  is  to  drag  up  the  obscure  and  gloomy  learning  of 
the  cell  to  open  inspection :  to  strip  it  from  its  garb  of  austerity  and 
to  show  the  beauties  of  that  form,  which  only  the  industrious  anJ  thfi 
inquisitive  have  been  hitherto  permitted  to  approach. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  EARTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  SKETCH  OF  THE  UNIVERSE. 

THE  World  may  be  considered  as  one  vast  mansion,  where  man  ha» 
been  admitted  to  enjoy,  to  admire,  and  to  be  grateful.  The  first  de- 
sires of  savage  nature  are  merely  to  gratify  the  importunities  of  sen- 
sual appetite,  and  to  neglect  the  contemplation  of  things,  barely  satis- 
fied with  their  enjoyment :  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  all  the  wonders 
of  creation,  have  but  little  charms  for  a  being  taken  up  in  obviating  the 
wants  of  the  day,  and  anxious  for  precarious  subsistence. 

Philosophers,  therefore,  who  have  testified  such  surprise  at  the  want 
of  curiosity  in  the  ignorant,  seem  not  to  consider  that  they  are  usually 
employed  in  making  provisions  of  a  more  important  nature ;  in  pro- 
viding rather  for  the  necessities  than  the  amusements  of  life.  It  is 
not  till  our  more  pressing  wants  are  sufficiently  supplied,  that  we  can 
attend  to  the  calls  of  curiosity ;  so  that  in  every  age  scientific  refine- 
ment has  been  the  latest  effort  of  human  industry. 

But  human  curiosity,  though  at  first  slowly  excited,  being  at  last 
possessed  of  leisure  for  indulging  its  propensity,  becomes  one  of  the 
greatest  amusements  of  life,  and  gives  higher  satisfactions  than  what 
even  the  senses  can  afford.  A  man  of  this  disposition  turns  all  nature 
into  a  magnificent  theatre,  replete  with  objects  of  wonder  and  surprise, 
and  fitted  up  chiefly  for  his  happiness  and  entertainment :  he  indus 
triously  examines  all  things,  from  the  minutest  insect  to  the  most 
finished  animal ;  and,  when  his  limited  organs  can  no  longer  make  the 
disquisition,  he  sends  out  his  imagination  upon  new  inquiries. 

Nothing,  therefore,  can  be  more  august  and  striking  than  the  idea 

hich  his  reason,  aided  by  his  imagination,  furnishes  of  the  universe 
around  him.  Astronomers  tell  us,  that  this  earth  which  we  inhabit 
forms  but  a  very  minute  part  in  that  great  assemblage  of  bodies 
of  which  the  world  is  composed.  It  is  a  million  of  times  less  than  the 
sun,  by  which  it  is  enlightened.  The  planets  also,  which,  like  it,  are 
subordinate  to  the  sun's  influence,  exceed  the  earth  a  thousand  times 
in  magnitude.  These,  which  were  at  first  supposed  to  wander  in  the 
heavens  without  any  fixed  path,  and  that  took  their  name  from  their 
apparent  deviations,  have  long  been  found  to  perform  their  circuits 
with  great  exactness  and  strict  regularity.  They  have  been  discover- 
ed as  forming,  with  our  earth,  a  system  of  bodies  circulating  round  the 
sun,  all  obodient  to  one  law,  and  impelled  by  one  common  influenr r>. 


10  A  HISTORY  OF 

Modern  philosophy  has  taught  us  to  believe,  that  when  the  great 
Author  of  nature  began  the  work  of  creation,  he  chose  to  operate  by 
second  causes  ;  and  that,  suspending  the  constant  exertion  of  his  pow- 
er, he  endued,  matter  with,  a.  Quality, -by  which  the  universal  economy 
of  nature  might  «b£ 'continued:  tyftfipuj  his  immediate  assistance.  This 
quality  is  called*  attraction  ;  Vso'rt'of^  approximating  influence,  which 
all  bodies,  .wh^titer  '.tgr/eStKal  or  e'elestjal,  are  found  to  possess ,  and 
which  in  all'  increases'  'as  the l  quantity  of  matter  in  each  increases. 
The  sun,  by  far  the  greatest  body  in  our  system,  is,  of  consequence, 
possessed  of  much  the  greatest  share  of  this  attracting  power ;  and 
all  the  planets,  of  which  our  earth  is  one,  are,  of  course,  entirely  subject 
to  its  superior  influence.  Were  this  power,  therefore,  left  uncontrolled 
by  the  other,  the  sun  must  quickly  have  attracted  all  the  bodies  of  our 
celestial  system  to  itself;  but  it  is  equally  counteracted  by  another  pow- 
er of  equal  efficacy ;  namely,  a  progressive  force,  which  each  planet 
received  when  it  was  impelled  forward  by  the  divine  Architect,  upon 
its  first  formation.  The  heavenly  bodies  of  our  system  being  thus 
acted  upon  by  two  opposing  powers ;  namely,  by  that  of  attraction^ 
which  draws  them  towards  the  sun  ;  and  that  of  impulsion,  which  drives 
them  straight  forward  into  the  great  void  of  space  ;  they  pursue  a  track 
between  these  contrary  directions ;  and  each,  like  a  stone  whirled 
about  in  a  sling,  obeying  two  opposite  forces,  circulates  round  its  great 
centre  of  heat  and  motion. 

In  this  manner,  therefore,  is  the  harmony  of  our  planetary  system 
preserved.  The  sun,  in  the  midst,  gives  heat,  and  light,  and  circular 
motion  to  the  planets  which  surround  it :  Mercury,  Venus,  the  Earth, 
Mars,  Jupiter,  Saturn,  and  Herschel  or  the  Georgium  Sidus,  perform 
their  constant  circuits  at  different  distances,  each  taking  up  a  time  to 
complete  its  revolutions  proportioned  to  the  greatness  of  the  circle 
which  it  is  to  describe.  The  lesser  planets  also,  which  are  attendants 
upon  some  of  the  greater,  are  subject  to  the  same  laws ;  they  circu- 
late with  the  same  exactness ;  and  are,  in  the  same  manner,  influ- 
enced by  their  respective  centres  of  motion. 

Besides  those  bodies  which  make  a  part  of  our  peculiar  system,  and 
which  may  be  said  to  reside  within  its  great  circumference,  there  are 
others  that  frequently  come  among  us,  from  the  most  distant  tracts 
of  space,  and  that  seem  like  dangerous  intruders  upon  the  beautiful 
simplicity  of  nature.  These  are  comets,  whose  appearance  wia 
once  so  terrible  to  mankind  ;  and  the  theory  of  which  is  so  little  un- 
derstood at  present :  all  we  know  is,  that  their  number  is  much  greater 
than  that  of  the  planets ;  and  that,  like  these,  they  roll  in  orbits,  in 
«orae  measure  obedient  to  solar  influence.  Astronomers  have  en- 
deavoured to  calculate  the  returning  periods  of  many  of  them ;  but 
experience  has  not,  as  yet,  confirmed  the  veracity  of  their  investiga- 
tions. Indeed,  who  can  tell,  when  those  wanderers  have  made  their 
excursions  into  other  worlds  and  distant  systems,  what  obstacles  may 
be  found  to  oppose  their  progress,  to  accelerate  their  motions,  or 
retard  their  return  ? 

But  what  we  have  hitherto  attempted  to  sketch,  is  but  a  small  part 
\if  that  great  fabric  in  which  the  Deity  has  thought  proper  to  manifesi 
his  wisdom  and  omnipotence.  There  are  multitudes  of  other  bod/e... 


THE  EARTH.  11 

dispersed  over  the  face  of  the  heavens,  that  lie  too  remote  for  e-\ami- 
aation  :  these  have  no  motion,  such  as  the  planets  are  found  to  possess, 
and  are  therefore  called  fixed  stars;  and  from  their  extreme  bril- 
liancy, and  their  immense  distance,  philosophers  have  been  induced 
to  suppose  them  to  be  suns,  resembling  that  which  enlivens  our  system. 
As  the  imagination  also,  once  excited,  is  seldom  content  to  stop,  it  has 
furnished  each  with  an  attendant  system  of  planets  belonging  to  itself, 
and  has  even  induced  some  to  deplore  the  fate  of  those  systems,  whose 
imagined  suns,  which  sometimes  happens,  have  become  no  longer 
visible. 

But  conjectures  of  this  kind,  which  no  reasoning  can  ascertain,  nor 
experiment  reach,  are  rather  amusing  than  useful.  Though  we  see 
the  greatness  and  wisdom  of  the  Deity  in  all  the  seeming  worlds  that 
surround  us,  it  is  our  chief  concern  to  trace  Him  in  that  which  we  in- 
habit. The  examination  of  the  earth,  the  wonders  of  its  contrivance, 
the  history  of  its  advantages,  or  of  the  seeming  defects  in  its  forma- 
tion, are  the  proper  business  of  the  natural  historian.  A  description 
of  this  earth,  its  animals,  vegetables,  and  minerals,  is  the  most  delight- 
ful entertainment  the  mind  can  be  furnished  with,  as  it  is  the  most  in- 
teresting and  useful.  I  would  beg  leave,  therefore,  to  conclude  these 
common-place  speculations,  with  an  observation,  which,  I  hope,  is  not 
entirely  so. 

A  use,  hitherto  not  much  insisted  upon,  that  may  result  from  the 
contemplation  of  celestial  magnificence  is,  that  it  will  teach  us  to 
make  an  allowance  for  the  apparent  irregularities  we  find  below. 
Whenever  we  examine  the  works  of  the  Deity  at  a  proper  point  of  dis- 
tance, so  as  to  take  in  the  whole  of  his  design,  we  see  nothing  but  uni- 
formity, beauty,  and  precision.  The  heavens  present  us  with  a  plan, 
which,  though  inexpressibly  magnificent,  is  yet  regular  beyond  the 
power  of  invention.  Whenever,  therefore,  we  find  any  apparent  de- 
fects in  the  Earth,  which  we  are  about  to  consider,  instead  of  attempt- 
ing to  reason  ourselves  into  an  opinion  that  they  are  beautiful,  it  will 
be  wiser  to  say,  that  we  do  not  behold  them  at  the  proper  point  of  dis- 
tance, and  that  our  eye  is  laid  too  close  to  the  objects  to  take  in  the 
regularity  of  their  connexion.  In  short,  we  may  conclude,  that  God, 
who  is  regular  in  his  GREAT  productions,  acts  with  equal  uniformity  in 
the  LITTLE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  SHORT  SURVEY  OP  THE  GLOBE,    FROM  THE   LIGHT  OF  ASTRONOMY  AND 
GEOGRAPHY. 

ALL  the  sciences  are  in  some  measure  linked  with  each  other,  and 
before  the  one  is  ended,  the  other  begins.  In  a  natural  history,  there- 
fore, of  the  earth,  we  must  begin  with  a  short  account  of  its  situation 
and  form,  as  given  by  astronomers  and -geographers :  it  will  be  suffi- 
cient, however,  upon  this  occasion,  just  to  hint  to  the  imagination, 
what  they,  by  the  most  abstract  reasonings,  have  forced  upon  the  un- 
derstanding. The  earth  which  we  inhabit  is,  as  has  been  said  before. 


12  THE  HISTORY  OF 

one  of  those  bodies  which  circulate  in  our  solar  system  ;  it  is  place/d 
at  a  happy  middle  distance  from  the  centre ;  and  even  seems,  in  this 
respect,  privileged  beyond  all  other  planets  that  depend  upon  our  grea* 
luminary  for  their  support.  Less  distant  from  the  sun  than  Herschel 
or  the  Georgium  Sidus,  Saturn,  Jupiter,  and  Mars,  and  yet  less  parched 
up  than  Venus  and  Mercury,  that  are  situate  too  near  the  violence 
of  its  power,  the  Earth  seems  in  a  peculiar  manner  to  share  the  boun- 
ty of  the  Creator  :  it  is  not,  therefore,  without  reason,  that  mankind 
consider  themselves  as  the  peculiar  objects  of  his  providence  and 
regard. 

Besides  that  motion  which  the  earth  has  round  the  sun,  the  circuit 
of  which  is  performed  in  a  year,  it  has  another  upon  its  own  axle, 
which  it  performs  in  twenty-four  hours.  Thus,  like  a  chariot-wheel,  it 
has  a  compound  motion  ;  for  while  it  goes  forward  on  its  journey,  it  is 
nil  the  while  turning  round  upon  itself.  From  the  first  of  these  two 
arise  the  grateful  vicissitude  of  the  seasons ;  from  the  second,  that 
of  day  and  night. 

It  may  be  also  readily  conceived,  that  a  body  thus  wheeling  in  cir- 
cles will  most  probably  be  itself  a  sphere.  The  earth,  beyond  all  pos- 
sibility of  doubt,  is  found  to  be  so.  Whenever  its  shadow  happens  to 
fall  upon  the  moon,  in  an  eclipse,  it  appears  to  be  always  circular,  in 
whatever  position  it  is  projected  :  and  it  is  easy  **»  prove,  that  a  body 
which  in  every  position  makes  a  circular  shadow,  must  itself  be  round. 
The  rotundity  of  the  earth  may  be  also  proved  from  the  meeting  of  two 
ships  at  sea  :  the  top-masts  of  each  are  the  first  parts  that  are  discover- 
ed by  both,  the  under  parts  being  hidden  by  the  convexity  of  the  globe 
which  rises  between  them.  The  ships,  in  this  instance,  may  be  resem- 
bled to  two  men  who  approach  each  other  on  the  opposite  sides  of  a 
hill :  their  heads  will  first  be  seen,  and  gradually  as  they  come  nearer 
they  will  come  entirely  into  view. 

However,  though  the  earth's  figure  is  said  to  be  spherical,  we  ought 
only  to  conceive  it  as  being  nearly  so.  It  has  been  found  in  the  last 
age  to  be  rather  flatted  at  both  poles,  so  that  its  form  is  commonly  re- 
sembled to  that  of  a  turnip.  The  cause  of  this  swelling  of  the  equator 
is  ascribed  to  the  greater  rapidity  of  the  motion  with  which  the  parts 
of  the  earth  are  there  carried  round  ;  and  which,  consequently,  en- 
deavouring to  fly  off,  act  in  opposition  to  central  attraction.  The 
twirling  of  a  mop  may  serve  as  a  homely  illustration  ;  which,  as  every 
one  has  seen,  spreads  and  grows  broader  in  the  middle  as  it  continues 
to  be  turned  round. 

As  the  earth  receives  light  and  motion  from  the  sun,  so  it  de- 
rives  much  of  its  warmth  and  power  of  vegetation  from  the  same 
beneficent  source.  However,  the  different  parts  of  the  globe  par- 
ticipate of  these  advantages  in  very  different  proportions,,  and  accord- 
ingly  put  on  very  different  appearances ;  a  polar  prospect,  and  a  land- 
scape at  the  equator,  are  as  opposite  in  their  appearances  as  in  the'u 
vituation. 

The  polar  regions,  that  receive  the  solar  beams  in  a  very  oblique 
direction,  and  that  continue  for  one  half  of  the  year  in  night,  receive 
but  few  of  the  genial  comforts  that  other  parts  of  the  world  enjoy. 
Nothing  can  be  more  mournful  or  hideous  than  the  picture  which 


THE  EARTH.  13 

travellers  present  of  those  wretched  regions.  The  ground,*  which  is 
rocky  and  barren,  rears  itself  in  every  place  in  lofty  mountains  and 
inaccessible  cliffs,  and  meets  the  mariner's  eye  at  even  forty  leagues 
from  shore.  These  precipices,  frightful  in  themselves,  receive  an 
additional  horror  from  being  constantly  covered  with  ice  and  snow, 
which  daily  seem  to  accumulate,  and  fill  all  the  valleys  with  increasing 
desolation.  The  few  rocks  and  cliffs,  that  are  bare  of  snow,  look  at  a 
distance  of  a  dark  brown  colour,  and  quite  naked.  Upon  a  nearer  ap- 
proach, however,  they  are  found  replete  with  many  different  veins 
of  coloured  stone,  here  and  there  spread  over  with  a  little  earth,  and  a 
scanty  portion  of  grass  and  heath.  The  internal  parts  of  the  country 
are  still  more  desolate  and  deterring.  In  wandering  through  these 
solitudes,  some  plains  appear  covered  with  ice,  that,  at  first  glance, 
seem  to  promise  the  traveller  an  easy  journey,  f  But  these  are  even 
more  formidable  and  more  unpassable  than  the  mountains  themselves, 
being  cleft  with  dreadful  chasms,  and  every  where  abounding  with 
pits  that  threaten  certain  destruction.  The  seas  that  surround  these 
inhospitable  coasts,  are  still  more  astonishing,  being  covered  with 
flakes  of  floating  ice,  that  spread  like  extensive  fields,  or  that  rise  out 
of  the  water  like  enormous  mountains.  These,  which  are  composed 
of  materials  as  clear  and  transparent  as  glass,  J  assume  many  strange 
and  phantastic  appearances.  Some  of  them  look  like  churches  or 
castles,  with  pointed  turrets  ;  some  like  ships  in  full  sail ;  and  people 
have  often  given  themselves  the  fruitless  toil  to  attempt  piloting  the 
imaginary  vessels  into  the  harbour.  There  are  still  others  that  appear 
like  large  islands,  with  plains,  valleys,  and  hills,  which  often  rear  their 
heads  two  hundred  yards  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  although  the 
height  of  these  be  amazing,  yet  their  depth  beneath  is  still  more  so; 
some  of  them  being  found  to  sink  three  hundred  fathom  under  water. 
•  The  earth  presents  a  very  different  appearance  at  the  equator, 
where  the  sun-beams,  darting  directly  downwards,  burn  up  the  lighter 
soils  into  extensive  sandy  deserts,  or  quicken  all  the  moister  tracts 
with  incredible  vegetation.  In  these  regions,  almost  all  the  same  in- 
conveniences are  felt  from  the  proximity  of  the  sun,  that  in  the  former 
were  endured  from  its  absence.  The  deserts  are  entirely  barren,  ex- 
cept where  they  are  found  to  produce  serpents,  and  that  in  such 
quantities,  that  some  extensive  plains  seem  almost  entirely  covered 
with  them.§ 

It  not  unfrequently  happens  also,  that  this  dry  soil,  which  is  so 
parched  and  comminuted  by  the  force  of  the  sun,  rises  with  the 
smallest  breeze  of  wind  ;  and  the  sands  being  composed  of  parts,  al- 
most as  small  as  those  of  water,  they  assume  a  similar  appearance,  roll- 
ing onward  in  waves  like  those  of  a  troubled  sea,  and  overwhelming 
all  they  meet  with  inevitable  destruction.  On  the  other  hand,  those 
tracts  which  are  fertile  teem  with  vegetation  even  to  a  noxious  degree. 
The  grass  rises  to  such  a  height  as  often  to  require  burning ;  the  forests 
are  impassable  from  underwoods,  and  so  matted  above,  that  even  the 
sun,  fierce  as  it  is,  can  seldom  penetrate.  ||  These  are  so  thick  as 

*  Crantz's  History  of  Greenland,  p.  3.  f  Ibid,  p.  22.      \  Ibid,  p.  27. 
§  Adanson's  Description  of  Senegal.      |  Linnsei  Amsenit.  vol.  vi.  p.  67. 


14  A  HISTORY  OF 

scarcely  to  be  extirpated  ;  for  the  tops  being  so  bound  together  by  the 
climbing  plants  that  grow  round  them,  though  a  hundred  should  be  cut 
at  the  bouom,  yet  not  one  would  fall,  as  they  mutually  support  each 
other.  Jn  these  dark  and  entangled  forests,  beasts  of  various  kinds,  in- 
sects in  astonishing  abundance,  and  serpents  of  surprising  magnitude, 
find  a  quiet  retreat  from  man,  and  are  seldom  disturbed  except  by  each 
other. 

In  this  manner  the  extremes  of  our  globe  seem  equally  unfitted  for 
the  comforts  and  conveniences  of  life :  and  although  the  imagination 
may  find  an  awful  pleasure  in  contemplating  the  frightful  precipices 
of  Greenland,  or  the  luxurious  verdure  of  Africa,  yet  true  happiness 
can  only  be  found  in  the  more  moderate  climates,  where  the  gifts  of  na- 
ture may  be  enjoyed,  without  incurring  danger  in  obtaining  them. 

It  is  in  the  temperate  zone,  therefore,  that  all  the  arts  of  improving 
nature,  and  refining  upon  happiness,  have  been  invented :  and  this 
part  of  the  earth  is,  more  properly  speaking,  the  theatre  of  natural 
history.  Although  there  be  millions  of  animals  and  vegetables  in  the 
unexplored  forests  under  the  line,  yet  most  of  these  may  for  ever  con- 
tinue unknown,  as  curiosity  is  there  repressed  by  surrounding  danger. 
But  it  is  otherwise  in  these  delightful  regions  which  we  inhabit,  and 
where  this  art  has  had  its  beginning.  Among  us  there  is  scarce  a  shrub, 
a  flower,  or  an  insect,  without  its  particular  history  ;  scarce  a  plant  that 
could  be  useful,  which  has  not  been  propagated ;  nor  a  weed  that 
could  be  noxious,  which  has  not  been  pointed  out. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  VIEW  OP  THE  SURFACE  OP  THE  EARTH. 

WHEN  we  take  a  slight  survey  of  the  surface  of  our  globe,  a  thou- 
sand objects  offer  themselves,  which,  though  long  known,  yet  still  de- 
mand our  curiosity.  The  most  obvious  beauty  that  every  where 
strikes  the  eye,  is  the  verdant  covering  of  the  earth,  which  is  forn>ed 
by  a  happy  mixture  of  herbs  and  trees  of  various  magnitudes  and  uses. 
It  has  been  often  remarked,  that  no  colour  refreshes  the  sight  so  much 
as  green :  and  it  may  be  added,  as  a  further  proof  of  the  assertion, 
that  the  inhabitants  of  those  places  where  the  fields  are  continually 
white  with  snow,  generally  become  blind  long  before  the  usual  course 
of  nature. 

This  advantage,  which  arises  from  the  verdure  of  the  fields,  is  not  a 
little  improved  by  their  agreeable  inequalities.  There  are  scarcely 
two  natural  landscapes  that  offer  prospects  entirely  resembling  each 
other  ;  their  risings  and  depressions,  their  hills  and  valleys,  are  never 
entirely  the  same,  but  always  offer  something  new  to  entertain  and  re- 
fresh the  imagination. 

But  to  increase  the  beauties  of  the  face  of  nature,  the  landscape  is 
enlivened  by  springs  and  lakes,  and  intersected  by  rivulets.  These 
'end  a  brightness  to  the  prospect ;  give  motion  and  coolness  to  the  air  ; 
and,  what  is  much  more  important,  furnish  health  and  subsistence  tc 
animated  nature. 


THE  EARTH.  15 

Such  aie  the  most  obvious  and  tranquil  objects  that  every  where 
offer :  but  there  are  others  of  a  more  awful  and  magnificent  kind  ;  the 
Mountain  rising  above  the  clouds,  and  topped  with  snow ;  the  Rivet 
pouring  down  its  sides,  increasing  as  it  runs,  and  losing  itself,  at  last,  in 
the  ocean  ;  the  Ocean  spreading  its  immense  sheet  of  waters  over  one 
half  of  the  globe,  swelling  and  subsiding  at  well-known  intervals,  and 
forming  a  communication  between  the  most  distant  parts  of  the  earth. 

If  we  leave  those  objects  that  seem  to  be  natural  to  our  earth,  and 
keep  the  same  constant  tenor,  we  are  presented  with  the  great  irregu- 
larities of  nature.  The  burning  mountain  ;  the  abrupt  precipice  ;  the 
unfathomable  cavern  ;  the  headlong  cataract ;  and  the  rapid  whirlpool, 

If  we  carry  our  curiosity  a  little  further,  and  descend  to  the  objects 
immediately  below  the  surface  of  the  globe,  we  shall  there  find  won- 
ders still  as  amazing.  We  first  perceive  the  earth  for  the  most  part  ly- 
ing in  regular  beds  or  layers,  every  bed  growing  thicker  in  proportion 
as  it  lies  deeper,  and  its  contents  more  compact  and  heavy.  We  shall 
find,  almost  wherever  we  make  our  subterranean  inquiry,  an  amazing 
number  of  shells  that  once  belonged  to  aquatic  animals.  Here  and 
there,  at  a  distance  from  the  sea,  beds  of  oyster-shells,  several  yards 
thick,  and  many  miles  over  ;  sometimes  testaceous  substances  of  vari- 
ous kinds  on  the  tops  of  mountains,  and  often  in  the  heart  of  the  hard- 
est marble.  These,  which  are  dug  up  by  the  peasants  in  every  coun- 
try, are  regarded  with  little  curiosity  ;  for  being  so  very  common,  they 
are  considered  as  substances  entirely  terrene.  But  it  is  otherwise  with 
the  inquirer  after  nature,  who  finds  them,  not  only  in  shape  but  in 
substance,  every  way  resembling  those  that  are  found  in  the  sea ;  and 
he,  therefore,  is  at  a  loss  to  account  for  their  removal. 

Yet  not  one  part  of  nature  alone,  but  all  her  productions  and  vari- 
eties, become  the  object  of  the  speculative  man's  inquiry :  he  takes 
different  views  of  nature  from  the  inattentive  spectator ;  and  scarce 
an  appearance,  how  common  soever,  but  affords  matter  for  his  con- 
templation :  he  inquires  how  and  why  the  surface  of  the  earth  has 
those  risings  and  depressions  which  most  men  call  natural ;  he  de- 
mands in  what  manner  the  mountains  were  formed,  and  in  what  con- 
sists their  uses ;  he  asks  from  whence  springs  arise,  and  how  rivers 
flow  round  the  convexity  of  the  globe  ;  he  enters  into  an  examination 
of  the  ebbings  and  flowings,  and  the  other  wonders  of  the  deep  ;  he 
acquaints  himself  with  the  irregularities  of  nature,  and  endeavours  to 
investigate  their  causes ;  by  which,  at  least,  he  will  become  better 
versed  in  their  history.  The  internal  structure  of  the  globe  becomes 
an  object  of  his  curiosity ;  and,  although  his  inquiries  can  fathom  but 
a  very  little  way,  yet,  if  possessed  with  a  spirit  of  theory,  his  imagina- 
tion will  supply  the  rest.  He  will  endeavour  to  account  for  the  situa- 
tion of  the  marine  fossils  that  are  found  in  the  earth,  and  for  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  different  beds  of  which  it  is  composed.  These  have 
been  the  inquiries  that  have  splendidly  employed  many  of  the  philoso- 
phers of  the  last  and  present  age,*  and,  to  a  certain  degree,  they  must 
be  serviceable.  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  that,  as  speculations  amuse  the 

•  Buffon,   Woodward,  Burnet,  Whiston,  Kircher,    Bourquat,  Leibnitz,   Steno, 
*ay,  Sic. 


It  A  HISTORY  OT 

writer  mure  than  facts,  they  may  be  often  carried  to  an  extravagant 
length ;  and  that  time  may  be  spent  in  reasoning  upon  nature,  which 
might  be  more  usefully  employed  in  writing  her  history. 

Too  much  speculation  in  natural  history  is  certainly  wrong ;  but 
there  is  a  defect  of  an  opposite  nature  that  does  much  more  preju- 
dice ;  namely,  that  of  silencing  all  inquiry  by  alleging  the  benefits  we 
receive  from  a  thing,  instead  of  investigating  the  cause  of  its  produc- 
tion. If  I  inquire  how  a  mountain  came  to  be  formed  ;  such  a  rea- 
soner,  enumerating  its  benefits,  answers,  because  God  knew  it  would 
be  useful.  If  I  demand  the  cause  of  an  earthquake,  he  finds  some 
good  produced  by  it,  and  alleges  that  as  the  cause  of  its  explosion. 
Thus  such  an  inquirer  has  constantly  some  ready  reason  for  every  ap- 
pearance in  nature,  which  serves  to  swell  his  periods,  and. give  splen- 
dour to  his  declamation  :  every  thing  about  him  is,  on  some  account 
or  other,  declared  to  be  good  ;  and  he  thinks  it  presumption  to  scru- 
tinize into  its  defects,  or  to  endeavour  to  imagine  how  it  might  be  bet- 
ter. Such  writers,  and  there  are  many  such,  add  very  little  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  knowledge.  It  is  finely  remarked  by  Bacon,  that  the 
investigation  of  final  causes*  is  a  barren  study ;  and,  like  a  virgin 
dedicated  to  the  Deity,  brings  forth  nothing.  In  fact,  those  men  who 
want  to  compel  every  appearance  and  every  irregularity  in  nature  into 
our  service,  and  expatiate  on  their  benefits,  combat  that  very  morality 
which  they  would  seem  to  promote.  God  has  permitted  thousands 
of  natural  evils  to  exist  in  the  world,  because  it  is  by  their  interven- 
tion that  man  is  capable  of  moral  evil ;  and  he  has  permitted  that  we 
should  be  subject  to  moral  evil,  that  we  might  do  something  to  deserve 
eternal  happiness,  by  showing  that  we  had  the  rectitude  to  avoid  it. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  REVIEW  OF  THE  DIFFERENT  THEORIES  OF  THE  EARTH. 

HUMAN  invention  has  been  exercised  for  several  ages  to  account  for 
the  various  irregularities  of  the  earth.  While  those  philosophers, 
mentioned  in  the  last  chapter,  see  nothing  but  beauty,  symmetry,  and 
order  ;  there  are  others,  who  look  upon  the  gloomy  side  of  nature, 
enlarge  on  its  defects,  and  seem  to  consider  the  earth,  on  which  they 
tread,  as  one  scene  of  extensive  desolation.t  Beneath  its  surface  the) 
observe  minerals  and  waters  confusedly  jumbled  together  ;  its  differ- 
ent beds  of  earth  irregularly  lying  upon  each  other  ;  mountains  rising 
from  places  that  once  were  level  ;f  and  hills  sinking  into  valleys  ;  whole 
regions  swallowed  by  the  sea,  and  others  again  rising  out  of  its  bosom. 
All  these  they  suppose  to  be  but  a  few  of  the  changes  that  have  been 
wrought  in  our  globe  ;  and  they  send  out  the  imagination  to  describe 
its  primaeval  state  of  beauty. 

Of  those  who  have  written  theories  describing  the  manner  of  the 
original  formation  of  the  earth,  or  accounting  for  its  present  appear 

Mnvestigatio  causarum  finalium  sterilis  est,  et  vcluti  virgo  Deo  dicata  nil    puit 
t  Buffbn's  second  Discourse.         t  Senec.  Qua;st.  lib.  vi.  cap.  21 


THE  EARTH.  1? 

races,  the  most  celebrated  are  Burnet,  Whiston,  Woodward,  and 
Bufibn.  As  speculation  is  endless,  so  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  that 
all  these  differ  from  each  other,  and  give  opposite  accounts  of  the 
several  changes,  which  they  suppose  our  earth  to  have  undergone. 
As  the  systems  of  each  have  had  their  admirers,  it  is,  in  some  measure, 
incumbent  upon  the  natural  historian  to  be  acquainted,  at  least,  with 
their  outlines ;  and,  indeed,  to  know  what  others  have  even  dreamed 
in  matters  of  science,  is  very  useful,  as  it  may  often  prevent  us  from 
indulging  similar  delusions  ourselves,  which  we  should  never  have 
adopted,  but  because  we  take  them  to  be  wholly  our  own.  However, 
as  entering  into  a  detail  of  these  theories,  is  rather  furnishing  a  history 
of  opinions  than  things,  I  will  endeavour  to  be  as  concise  as  I  can. 

The  first  who  formed  this  amusement  of  earth-making  into  system, 
was  the  celebrated  Thomas  Burnet,  a  man  of  polite  learning  and  rapid 
imagination.  His  Sacred  Theory,  as  he  calls  it,  describing  the  changes 
which  the  earth  has  undergone,  or  shall  hereafter  undergo,  is  well 
known  for  the  warmth  with  which  it  is  imagined,  and  the  weakness  with 
which  it  is  reasoned ;  for  the  elegance  of  its  style,  and  the  mean- 
ness of  its  philosophy.  "  The  earth,"  says  he,  "  before  the  deluge, 
was  very  differently  formed  from  what  it  is  at  present :  it  was  at 
first  a  fluid  mass ;  a  chaos  composed  of  various  substances,  differing 
both  in  density  and  figure :  those  which  were  most  heavy  sunk 
to  the  centre,  and  formed  in  the  middle  of  our  globe  a  hard  solid 
body ;  those  of  a  lighter  nature  remained  next ;  and  the  waters, 
which  were  lighter  still,  swam  upon  its  surface,  and  covered  the 
earth  on  every  side.  The  air,  and  all  those  fluids  which  were 
lighter  than  water,  floated  upon  this  also ;  and  in  the  same  manner 
encompassed  the  globe  ;  so  that  between  the  surrounding  body  of  wa- 
ters, and  the  circumambient  air,  there  was  formed  a  coat  of  oil,  and 
other  unctuous  substances,  lighter  than  water.  However,  as  the  air 
was  still  extremely  impure,  and  must  have  carried  up  with  it  many 
of  those  earthy  particles  with  which  it  once  was  intimately  blended, 
it  soon  began  to  defecate,  and  to  depose  these  particles  upon  the  oily 
surface  already  mentioned,  which  soon  uniting,  the  earth  and  oil 
formed  that  crust,  which  soon  became  a  habitable  surface,  giving  life 
to  vegetation,  and  dwelling  to  animals. 

"  This  imaginary  antideluvian  abode  was  very  different  from  what 
we  see  it  at  present.  The  earth  was  light  and  rich  ;  and  formed  of  a 
substance  entirely  adapted  to  the  feeble  state  of  incipient  vegetation  : 
it  was  a  uniform  plain,  every  where  covered  with  verdure ;  without 
mountains,  without  seas,  or  the  smallest  inequalities.  It  had  no  dif- 
ference of  seasons,  for  its  equator  was  in  the  plane  of  the  ecliptic,  or, 
in  other  words,  it  turned  directly  opposite  to  the  sun,  so  that  it  enjoy, 
ed  one  perpetual  and  luxuriant  spring.  However,  this  delightful  face 
of  nature  did  not  long  continue  in  the  same  state ;  for,  after  a  time, 
it  began  to  crack  and  open  in  fissures ;  a  circumstance  which  always 
succeeds  when  the  sun  exhales  the  moisture  from  rich  or  marshy  situ- 
ations.  The  crimes  of  mankind  had  been  for  some  time  preparing  to 
draw  down  the  wrath  of  Heaven ;  and  they,  at  length,  induced  the 
Deity  to  defer  repairing  these  breaches  in  nature.  Thus  the  chasms 
of  the  earth  every  day  became  wider,  and,  at  length,  they  penetrated 

VOL.  I.  B 


13  A  HISTORY  OF 

to  the  great  abyss  of  waters ;  and  the  whole  earth,  in  a  manner,  fell 
in.  Then  ensued  a  total  disorder  in  the  uniform  beauty  of  the  first 
creation,  the  terrene  surface  of  the  globe  being  broken  down ;  as  it 
sunk  the  waters  gushed  out  into  its  place ;  the  deluge  became  univer- 
sal ;  all  mankind,  except  eight  persons,  were  destroyed,  and  their  posr 
ferity  condemned  to  toil  upon  the  ruins  of  desolated  nature." 

It  only  remains  to  mention  the  manner  in  which  he  relieves  the 
earth  from  this  universal  wreck,  which  would  seem  to  be  as  difficult  a» 
even  its  first  formation  :  "  These  great  masses  of  earth  falling  into  the 
abyss,  drew  down  with  them  vast  quantities  also  of  air ;  and,  by  dash- 
ing against  each  other,  and  breaking  into  small  parts  by  the  repeated 
violence  of  the  shock,  they,  at  length,  left  between  them  large  cavities, 
filled  with  nothing  but  air.  These  cavities  naturally  offered  a  bed  to  re- 
ceive the  influent  waters  ;  and  in  proportion  as  they  filled,  the  face  of  the 
earth  became  once  more  visible.  The  higher  parts  of  its  broken  sur- 
face, now  become  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  were  the  first  that  ap- 
peared ;  the  plains  soon  after  came  forward,  and,  at  length,  the  whole 
globe  was  delivered  from  the  waters,  except  the  places  in  the  lowest 
situations  ;  so  that  the  ocean  and  the  seas  are  still  a  part  of  the  ancient 
abyss,  that  have  not  had  a  place  to  return.  Islands  and  rocks  are 
fragments  of  the  earth's  former  crust ;  kingdoms  and  continents  are 
larger  masses  of  its  broken  substance  ;  and  all  the  inequalities  that  are 
to  be  found  on  the  surface  of  the  present  earth,  are  owing  to  the  acci- 
dental confusion  into  which  both  earth  and  waters  were  then  thrown." 

The  next  theorist  was  Woodward,  who,  in  his  Essay  towards  a 
Natural  History  of  the  Earth,  which  was  only  designed  to  precede  a 
greater  work,  has  endeavoured  to  give  a  more  rational  account  of  its 
appearance;  and  was,  in  fact,  much  better  furnished  for  such  an  un- 
dertaking than  any  of  his  predecessors,  being  one  of  the  roost  assidu- 
ous naturalists  of  his  time.  His  little  book,  therefore,  contains  many 
important  facts,  relative  to  natural  history,  although  his  system  may  be 
weak  and  groundless. 

He  begins  by  asserting  that  all  terrene  substances  are  disposed  in 
beds  of  various  natures,  lying  horizontally  one  over  the  other,  some- 
what like  the  coats  of  an  onion  :  that  they  are  replete  with  shells,  and 
ither  productions  of  the  sea;  these  shells  being  found  in  the  deepest 
"iivities,  and  on  the  tops  of  the  highest  mountains.  From  these  obser- 
vations, which  are  warranted  by  experience,  he  proceeds  to  observe, 
that  these  shells  and  extraneous  fossils  are  not  productions  of  the  earth, 
but  are  all  actual  remains  of  those  animals  which  they  are  known  to 
resemble;  that  all  the  beds  of  the  earth  lie  under  each  other,  in  the 
order  of  their  specific  gravity ;  and  that  they  are  disposed  as  if  they 
had  been  left  there  by  subsiding  waters.  All  these  assertions  he  af- 
firms with  much  earnestness,  although  daily  experience  contradict* 
him  in  some  of  them  ;  particularly  we  find  layers  of  stone  often  over 
the  lightest  soils,  and  the  softest  earth  under  the  hardest  bodies.  How- 
ever, having  taken  it  for  granted,  that  all  the  layers  of  the  earth  are 
found  in  the  order  of  their  specific  gravity,  the  lightest  at  the  top,  and 
the  heaviest  next  the  centre,  he  consequently  asserts,  and  it  will  not 
improbably  follow,  that  all  the  substances  of  which  the  earth  is  com- 
posed were  once  in  an  actual  state  of  dissolution.  This  universal  clis 


THE  EARTH.  19 

solution  he  takes  to  have  happened  at  the  time  of  the  flood.  He  sup 
poses,  that  at  that  time  a  body  of  water,  which  was  then  in  the  centre 
of  the  earth,  uniting  with  that  which  was  found  on  the  surface,  so  far 
separated  the  terrene  parts  as  to  mix  all  together  in  one  fluid  mass ; 
the  contents  of  which  afterwards  sinking  according  to  their  respective 
gravities,  produced  the  present  appearances  of  the  earth.  Being 
aware,  however,  of  an  objection,  that  fossil  substances  are  not  found 
dissolved,  he  exempts  them  from  this  universal  dissolution,  and,  for 
that  purpose,  endeavours  to  show  that  the  parts  of  animals  have  a 
stronger  cohesion  than  those  of  minerals ;  and  that,  while  even  the 
hardest  rocks  may  be  dissolved,  bones  and  shells  may  still  continuw 
entire. 

So  much  for  Woodward ;  but  of  all  the  systems  which  were  pub- 
lished respecting  the  earth's  formation,  that  of  Whiston  was  most  ap- 
plauded, and  most  opposed.  Nor  need  we  wonder:  for  being  sup- 
ported with  all  the  parade  of  deep  calculation,  it  awed  the  ignorant,  and 
produced  the  approbation  of  such  as  would  be  thought  otherwise  ;  as 
it  implied  a  knowledge  of  abstruse  learning,  to  be  even  thought  capa- 
ble of  comprehending  what  the  writer  aimed  at.  In  fact,  it  is  not  easy 
to  divest  this  theory  of  its  mathematical  garb ;  but  those  who  have 
had  leisure,  have  found  the  result  of  our  philosopher's  reasoning  to  be 
thus  :  He  supposes  the  earth  to  have  been  originally  a  comet ;  and  he 
considers  the  history  of  the  creation,  as  given  us  in  scripture,  to  have 
its  commencement  just  when  it  was,  by  the  hand  of  the  Creator,  to  be 
more  regularly  placed  as  a  planet  in  our  solar  system.  Before  that 
time  he  supposes  it  to  have  been  a  globe  without  beauty  or  proportion  ; 
a  world  in  disorder;  subject  to  all  the  vicissitudes  which  comets  endure ; 
some  of  which  have  been  found,  at  different  times,  a  thousand  times 
hotter  than  melted  iron ;  at  others,  a  thousand  times  colder  than  ice. 
These  alternations  of  heat  and  cold,  continually  melting  and  freezing 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  he  supposes  to  have  produced,  to  a  certain 
depth,  a  chaos  entirely  resembling  that  described  by  the  poets,  stir 
rounding  the  solid  contents  of  the  earth,  which  still  continued  unchanged 
in  the  midst,  making  a  great  burning  globe  of  more  than  two  thousand 
leagues  in  diameter.  This  surrounding  chaos,  however,  was  far  from 
being  solid  :  he  resembles  it  to  a  dense  though  fluid  atmosphere,  com- 
posed of  substances  mingled,  agitated,  and  shocked  against  each  other ; 
and  in  this  disorder  he  describes  the  earth  to  have  been  just  at  the 
eve  of  creation. 

But  upon  its  orbit  being  then  changed,  when  it  was  more  regularly 
wheeled  round  the  sun,  every  thing  took  its  proper  place  ;  every  part 
of  the  surrounding  fluid  then  fell  into  a  situation,  in  proportion  as  U 
was  light  or  heavy. 

The  middle,  or  central  part,  which  always  remained  unchangeJ, 
still  continued  so,  retaining  a  part  of  that  heat  which  it  received 
•n  its  primeval  approaches  towards  the  sun :  which  heat,  he  cal- 
culates, may  continue  for  about  six  thousand  years.  Next  to  this 
fell  the  heavier  parts  of  the  chaotic  atmosphere,  which  serve  to 
sustain  the  lighter :  but  as  in  descending  they  coord  not  entirely 
be  separated  from  many  watery  parts,  with  which  they  were  in- 
timately mixed,  they  drew  down  a  part  of  these  also  with  them ; 


20  A  HISTORY  OF 

and  tlie^e  could  not  mount  again  after  the  surface  of  the  earth  was 
consolidated :  they,  therefore,  surrounded  the  heavy  first  descending 
parts,  in  the  same  manner  as  these  surround  the  central  globe.  Thus 
the  entire  body  of  the  earth  is  composed  internally  of  a  great  burn- 
ing globe ;  next  which  is  placed  a  heavy  terrene  substance,  that  en- 
compasses it ;  round  which  also  is  circumfused  a  body  of  water.  Up- 
on this  body  of  water,  the  crust  of  earth,  which  we  inhabit,  is  placed : 
so  that,  according  to  him,  the  globe  is  composed  of  a  number  of  coats, 
or  shells,  one  within  the  other,  all  of  different  densities.  The  body 
of  the  earth  being  thus  formed,  the  air,  which  is  the  lightest  substance 
of  all,  surrounded  its  surface ;  and  the  beams  of  the  sun,  darting 
through,  produced  that  light  which,  we  are  told,  first  obeyed  the  Cre- 
ator's command. 

The  whole  economy  of  the  creation  being  thus  adjusted,  it  only  re- 
mained to  account  for  the  risings  and  depressions  on  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  with  the  other  seeming  irregularities  of  its  present  appearance. 
The  hills  and  valleys  are  considered  by  him  as  formed  by  their  press- 
ing upon  the  internal  fluid,  which  sustains  the  outward  shell  of  earth, 
with  greater  or  less  weight :  those  parts  of  the  earth  which  are  hea- 
viest sink  into  the  subjacent  fluid  more  deeply,  and  become  valleys : 
those  that  are  lightest,  rise  higher  upon  the  earth's  surface,  and  are 
called  mountains. 

Such  was  the  face  of  nature  before  the  deluge ;  the  earth  was  then 
more  fertile  and  populous  than  it  is  at  present ;  the  life  of  man  and 
animals  was  extended  to  ten  times  its  present  duration  ;  and  all  these 
advantages  arose  from  the  superior  heat  of  the  central  globe,  which 
ever  since  has  been  cooling.  As  its  heat  was  then  in  full  power,  the 
genial  principle  was  also  much  greater  than  at  present ;  vegetation 
and  animal  increase  were  carried  on  with  more  vigour  ;  and  all  nature 
seemed  teeming  with  the  seeds  of  life.  But  these  physical  advan- 
tages were  only  productive  of  moral  evil ;  the  warmth  which  invigo- 
rated the  body  increased  the  passions  and  appetites  of  the  mind  ;  and, 
as  man  became  more  powerful  he  grew  less  innocent.  It  was  found 
necessary  to  punish  this  depravity  ;  and  all  living  creatures  were  over- 
whelmed by  the  deluge  in  universal  destruction. 

This  deluge,  which  simple  believers  are  willing  to  ascribe  to  a  mira- 
cle, philosophers  have  long  been  desirous  to  account  for  by  natural 
causes :  they  have  proved  that  the  earth  could  never  supply  from 
any  reservoir  towards  its  centre,  nor  the  atmosphere  by  any  dis- 
charge from  above,  such  a  quantity  of  water  as  would  cover  the  sur- 
face of  the  globe  to  a  certain  depth  over  the  tops  of  tmr  highest 
mountains.  Where,  therefore,  was  all  this  water  to  be  found  ? 
Whiston  has  found  enough,  and  more  than  a  sufficiency,  in  the  tail  of  a 
comet ;  for  he  seems  to  allot  comets  a  very  active  part  in  the  great 
operations  of  nature. 

He  calculates,  with  great  seeming  precision,  the  year,  the  month, 
and  the  day  of  the  week,  on  which  this  comet  (which  has  paid  the  earth 
some  visits  since,  though  at  a  kinder  distance)  involved  our  globe  in 
its  tail.  The  tail  he  supposed  to  be  a  vaporous  fluid  substance,  exhaled 
from  the  body  of  the  comet  by  the  extreme  heat  of  the  sun,  and  increas- 
ing in  proportion  as  it  approached  that  great  luminary.  It  was  in  this 


THE  EARTH.  21 

that  our  globe  was  involved  at  the  time  of  the  deluge  ;  and,  as  the 
earth  still  acted  by  its  natural  attraction,  it  drew  to  itself  all  the  wa- 
tery vapours  which  w?3re  in  the  comet's  tail ;  and  the  internal  waters 
being  also  at  the  same  time  let  loose,  in  a  very  short  space  the  tops 
of  the  highest  mountains  were  laid  under  the  deep. 

The  punishment  of  the  deluge  being  thus  completed,  and  all  the 
guilty  destroyed,  the  earth,  which  had  been  broken  by  the  eruption 
of  the  internal  waters,  was  also  enlarged  by  it ;  so  that,  upon  the 
comet's  recess,  there  was  found  room  sufficient  in  the  internal  abyss 
for  the  recess  of  the  superfluous  waters  ;  whither  they  all  retired,  and 
left  the  earth  uncovered,  but  in  some  respects  changed,  particularly 
in  its  figure,  which,  from  being  round,  was  now  become  oblate.  In 
this  universal  wreck  of  nature,  Noah  survived,  by  a  variety  of  happy 
causes,  to  re-people  the  earth,  and  to  give  birth  to  a  race  of  men  slow 
in  believing  ill-imagined  theories  of  the  earth. 

After  so  many  theories  of  the  earth,  which  had  been  published,  ap- 
plauded, answered,  and  forgotten,  Mr.  Euffon  ventured  to  add  one 
more  to  the  number.  This  philosopher  was,  in  every  respect,  better 
qualified  than  any  of  his  predecessors  for  such  an  attempt,  being  fur- 
nished with  more  materials,  having  a  brighter  imagination  to  find  new 
proofs,  and  a  better  style  to  clothe  them  in.  However,  if  one  so  ill 
qualified  as  I  am  may  judge,  this  seems  the  weakest  part  of  his  admi- 
rable work  ;  and  I  could  wish  that  he  had  been  content  with  giving  us 
facts  instead  of  systems  ;  that,  instead  of  being  a  reasoner,  he  had 
contented  himself  with  being  merely  a  historian. 

He  begins  his  system  by  making  a  distinction  between  the  first  part 
of  it  and  the  last ;  the  one  being  founded  only  on  conjecture,  the  other 
depending  entirely  upon  actual  observation.  The  latter  part  of  his 
theory  may,  therefore,  be  true,  though  the  former  should  be  found 
erroneous. 

"  The  planets,"  says  he,  "  and  the  earth  among  the  number,  might 
have  been  formerly  (he  only  offers  this  as  conjecture)  apart  of  the  body 
of  the  sun,  and  adherent  to  its  substance.  In  this  situation,  a  comet 
falling  in  upon  that  great  body,  might  have  given  it  such  a  shock,  and 
so  shaken  its  whole  frame,  that  some  of  its  particles  might  have  been 
driven  off  like  streaming  sparkles  from  red-hot  iron  ;  and  each  of  these 
streams  of  fire,  small  as  they  were  in  comparison  of  the  sun,  might  have 
been  large  enough  to  have  made  an  earth  as  great,  nay,  many  times  great- 
er than  ours.  So  that  in  this  manner  the  planets,  together  with  the  globe 
which  we  inhabit,  might  have  been  driven  off  from  the  body  of  the 
sun  by  an  impulsive  force :  in  this  manner  also  they  would  continue 
to  recede  from  it  for  ever,  were  they  not  drawn  back  by  its  superior 
power  of  attraction  ;  and  thus,  by  the  combination  of  the  two  motions, 
they  are  wheeled  round  in  circles. 

"  Being  in  this  manner  detached  at  a  distance  from  the  body  of  the 
sun,  the  planets,  from  having  been  at  first  globes  of  liquid  fire,  gradu- 
ally became  cool.  The  earth  also  having  been  impelled  obliquely 
forward,  received  a  rotatory  motion  upon  its  axis  at  the  very  instant 
vf  its  formation ;  and  this  motion  being  greatest  at  the  equator,  the 
•jarts  there  acting  against  the  force  of  gravity,  they  must  have  «  vollen 
>ut,  and  given  the  eaj  th  an  oblate  or  flatted  figure. 


22  THE  HISTORY  OF 

"  As  to  its  internal  substance,  our  globe,  having  once  belonged  to  the 
sun,  it  continues  to  be  a  uniform  mass  of  melted  matter,  very  proba- 
bly vitrified  in  its  primeval  fusion.  But  its  surface  is  very  differently 
composed.  Having  been  in  the  beginning  heated  to  a  degree  equal  to, 
if  not  greater  than  what  comets  are  found  to  sustain  ;  like  them  it  had 
an  atmosphere  of  vapours  floating  round  it,  and  which  cooling  by  de- 
grees, condensed  and  subsided  upon  its  surface.  These  vapours  form- 
ed, according  to  their  different  densities,  the  earth,  the  water,  and  the 
air  ;  the  heavier  parts  falling  first,  and  the  lighter  remaining  still 
suspended." 

Thus  far  our  philosopher  is,  at  least,  as  much  a  system-maker  as 
Winston  or  Burnet ;  and,  indeed,  he  fights  his  way  with  great  perse- 
verance and  ingenuity,  through  a  thousand  objections  that  naturally 
arise  Having,  at  last,  got  upon  the  earth,  he  supposes  himself  on 
firmer  ground,  and  goes  forward  with  greater  security.  Turning  his 
attention  to  the  present  appearance  of  things  upon  this  globe,  he  pro- 
nounces from  the  view,  that  the  whole  earth  was  at  first  under  water. 
This  water  he  supposes  to  have  been  the  lighter  parts  of  its  former 
evaporation,  which,  while  the  earthy  particles  sunk  downwards  by  their 
natural  gravity,  floated  on  the  surface,  and  covered  it  for  a  considera- 
ble space  of  time. 

"  The  surface  of  the  earth,"  says  he,*  "  must  have  been  in  the  be* 
ginning  much  less  solid  than  it  is  at  present ;  and,  consequently,  the 
same  causes  which  at  this  day  produce  but  very  slight  changes,  must 
then,  upon  so  complying  a  substance,  have  had  very  considerable  ef 
fects.  We  have  no  reason  to  doubt  but  that  it  was  then  covered  with 
the  waters  of  the  sea ;  and  that  those  waters  were  above  the  tops 
of  our  highest  mountains :  since,  even  in  such  elevated  situations,  we 
find  shells  and  other  marine  productions  in  very  great  abundance.  It 
appears  also  that  the  sea  continued  for  a  considerable  time  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth  :  for  as  these  layers  of  shells  are  found  so  very  fre- 
quent at  such  great  depths,  and  in  such  prodigious  quantities,  it  seems 
impossible  for  such  numbers  to  have  been  supported  all  alive  at  one 
time :  so  that  they  must  have  been  brought  there  by  successive  depo- 
sitions. These  shells  are  also  found  in  the  bodies  of  the  hardest 
rocks,  where  they  could  not  have  been  deposited,  all  at  once,  at  the 
time  of  the  del..ge,  or  at  ar  such  instant  revolution  ;  since  that  would 
be  to  suppose,  ..Aat  all  the  rocks  in  which  they  are  found,  were,  at 
that  instant,  in  a  state  of  dissolution,  which  would  he  absurd  to  assert. 
The  sea,  therefore,  deposited  them  wheresoever  they  are  now  to  bo 
founH,  and  that  by  slow  and  successive  degrees. 

"  It  will  appear  also,  that  the  sea  covered  the  whole  earth,  from  the 
appearance  of  its  layers,  which  lying  regularly  one  above  the  other, 
seem  all  to  resemble  the  sediment  formed  at  different  times  by  the  ocean. 
Hence,  by  the  irregular  force  of  its  waves,  and  its  currents  driving 
the  bottom  into  sand-banks,  mountains  must  have  been  gradually 
formed  within  this  universal  covering  of  waters ;  and  these  sue 
cessively  raising  their  heads  above  its  surface,  must,  in  time,  have 
formed  the  highest  ridges  of  mountains  upon  land,  together  with  con 

•  Theorie  de  la  Terre,  vol.  i.  p.  111. 


THE  EARTH.  23 

tinents,  islands,  and  low  grounds,  all  in  their  tui  ns.  This  opinion  will 
receive  additional  weight  by  considering,  that  in  those  parts  of  the 
earth  where  the  power  of  the  ocean  is  greatest,  the  '^equalities  on 
the  surface  of  the  earth  are  highest.  The  ocean's  po  Ver  is  great- 
est at  the  equator,  where  its  winds  and  tides  are  most  constant ;  and, 
in  fact,  the  mountains  at  the  equator  are  found  to  be  higher  than  in 
any  other  part  of  the  world.  The  sea,  therefore,  has  produced  the 
principal  changes  in  our  earth  :  rivers,  volcanoes,  earthquakes,  storms, 
and  rain,  having  made  but  slight  alterations,  and  only  such  as  have 
affected  the  globe  to  very  inconsiderable  depths." 

This  is  but  a  very  slight  sketch  of  Mr.  Buffon's  Theory  of  the 
Earth  ;  a  theory  which  he  has  much  more  powerfully  supported,  than 
happily  invented ;  and  it  would  be  needless  to  take  up  the  reader's 
time  from  the  pursuit  of  truth  in  the  discussion  of  plausibilities.  In 
fact,  a  thousand  questions  might  be  asked  this  most  ingenious  philoso- 
pher, which  he  would  not  find  it  easy  to  answer ;  but  such  is  the  lot 
of  humanity,  that  a  single  Goth  can  in  one  day  destroy  the  fabric 
which  Caesars  were  employed  an  age  in  erecting.  We  might  ask, 
how  mountains,  which  are  composed  of  the  most  compact  and  pon- 
derous substances,  should  be  the  first  whose  parts  the  sea  began  to  le- 
move  ?  We  might  ask,  how  fossil-wood  is  found  deeper  even  than 
shells  ?  which  argues,  that  trees  grew  upon  the  places  he  suppose* 
once  to  have  been  covered  with  the  ocean.  But  we  hope  this  excel> 
lent  man  is  better  employed  than  to  think  of  gratifying  the  petulance 
of  incredulity,  by  answering  endless  objections. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OP  FOSSIL-SHELLS,  AND  OTHER  EXTRANEOUS  FOSSILS. 

WE  may  affirm  of  Mr.  Buffon,  that  which  has  been  said  of  the 
chymists  of  old ;  though  he  may  have  failed  in  attaining  his  principa 
aim,  of  establishing  a  theory,  yet  he  has  brought  together  such  a  mul 
titude  of  facts  relative  to  the  history  of  the  earth,  and  the  nature  of  its 
fossil  productions,  that  curiosity  finds  ample  compensation,  even  while 
it  feels  the  want  of  conviction. 

Before,  therefore,  I  enter  upon  the  description  of  those  parts  of  the 
earth,  which  seem  more  naturally  to  fall  within  the  subject,  it  will  not 
be  improper  to  give  a  short  history  of  those  animal  productions  that 
are  found  in  such  quantities,  either  upon  its  surface,  or  at  different 
depths  below  it.  They  demand  our  curiosity ;  and,  indeed,  there  is 
nothing  in  natural  history  that  has  afforded  more  scope  for  doubt, 
conjecture,  and  speculation.  Whatever  depths  of  the  earth  we  examine, 
or  at  whatever  distance  within  land  we  seek,  we  most  commonly  find 
a  number  of  fossil-shells,  which  being  compared  with  others  from  the 
sea,  of  known  kinds,  are  found  to  be  exactly  of  a  similar  shape  and 
nature.*  They  are  found  at  the  very  bottom  of  quarries  and  mines, 
in  the  retired  and  inmost  parts  of  the  most  firm  and  solid  rocks,  upoc 

*  Woodward's  Essay  towards  a  Natural  History,  p.  16. 


24  A  HISTORY.  OF 

the  tc-ps  of  even  the  highest  hills  and  mountains,  as  well  as  in  the  valleys 
and  plains :  and  this  not  in  one  country  alone,  but  in  all  places  where 
tliere  is  any  digging  for  marble,  chalk,  or  any  other  terrestrial  matters, 
that  are  so  compact  as  to  fence  off  the  external  injuries  of  the  air, 
and  thus  preserve  these  shells  from  decay. 

These  marine  substances,  so  commonly  diffused,  and  so  generally  to 
be  met  with,  were  for  a  long  time  considered  by  philosophers  as  pro- 
ductions, not  of  the  sea,  but  of  the  earth.  "  As  we  find  that  spars," 
said  they,  "  always  shoot  into  peculiar  shapes,  so  these  seeming 
snail,  cockle,  and  muscle-fhells,  are  only  sportive  forms  that  nature 
assumes  amongst  others  of  its  mineral  varieties :  they  have  the 
shape  of  fish,  indeed,  but  they  have  always  been  terrestrial  sub- 
stances."* 

With  this  plausible  solution  mankind  were  for  a  long  time  content ; 
but,  upon  closer  inquiry,  they  were  obliged  to  alter  their  opinion.  It 
was  found  that  these  shells  had  in  every  respect  the  properties  of  ani- 
mal, and  not  of  mineral  nature.  They  were  found  exactly  of  the  same 
weight  with  their  fellow  shells  upon  shore.  They  answered  all  the 
chymical  trials  in  the  same  manner  as  sea-shells  do.  Their  parts, 
when  dissolved,  had  the  same  appearance  to  view,  the  same  smell  and 
taste.  They  had  the  same  effects  in  medicine,  when  inwardly  ad- 
ministered :  and,  in  a  word,  were  so  exactly  conformable  to  marine 
bodies,  that  they  had  all  the  accidental  concretions  growing  to  them, 
(such  as  pearls,  corals,  and  smaller  shells,)  which  are  found  in  shells  just 
gathered  on  the  shore.  They  were,  therefore,  from  these  considera 
tions,  given  back  to  the  sea ;  but  the  wonder  was,  how  to  account  for 
their  coming  so  far  from  their  own  natural  element  upon  land.t 

As  this  naturally  gave  rise  to  many  conjectures,  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered that  some  among  them  have  been  very  extraordinary.  An 
Italian,  quoted  by  Mr.  Buffon,  supposes  them  to  have  been  dep9sited 
in  the  earth  at  the  time  of  the  crusades,  by  the  pilgrims  who  returned 
from  Jerusalem ;  who  gathering  them  upon  the  sea-shore,  in  their  re- 
turn carried  them  to  their  different  places  of  habitation.  But  this 
conjecturer  seems  to  have  but  a  very  inadequate  idea  of  their  num- 
bers. At  Touraine,  in  France,  more  than  a  hundred  miles  from  the 
sea,  there  is  a  plain  of  about  nine  leagues  long,  and  as  many  broad, 
whence  the  peasants  of  the  country  supply  themselves  with  marl  for 
manuring  their  lands.  They  seldom  dig  deeper  than  twenty  feet,  and 
the  whole  plain  is  composed  of  the  same  materials,  which  are  shells 
of  various  kinds,  without  the  smallest  portion  of  earth  between  them. 
Here  then  is  a  large  space,  in  which  are  deposited  millions  of  tons 
of  shells,  that  pilgrims  could  not  have  collected,  though  their  whole 
employment  had  been  nothing  else.  England  is  furnished  with  its 
beds,  which,  though  not  quite  so  extensive,  yet  are  equally  wonderful. 
"  Near  Reading,  in  Berkshire,  for  many  succeeding  generations,  a  coiv. 
tinued  body  of  oyster-shells  has  been  found  through  the  whole  cir- 
cumference of  live  or  six  acres  of  ground.  The  foundation  of  these 
shells  is  a  hard  rocky  chalk ;  and  above  this  chalk,  the  oyster-shells 
lie  in  a  bed  of  green  sand,  upon  a  level,  as  nigh  as  can  possiblj 

•  Txiwtb's  Abridgment     Phil  Trans,  vol       p.  426         f  Woodwa  d,  p.  43 


n  Sheep,  p.  44 


Gnu  Aniitiiipe.  or  Bubalus,  p.  53 


Nvl  Ghau,  p   II,  vol.  iii. 


THE  EARTH.  23 

»e  judged,  and  about  two  feet  in  thickness."*  These  shells  are  in  their 
natural  state,  but  they  are  found  also  petrified,  and  almost  in  equal 
abundancet  in  all  the  Alpine  rocks,  in  the  Pyrenees,  on  the  hills 
of  France,  England,  and  Flanders.  Even  in  all  quarries  from  whence 
marble  is  dug,  if  the  rocks  be  split  perpendicularly  downwards,  petri- 
fied shells  and  other  marine  substances  will  be  plainly  discerned. 

"  About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  river  Medway,  in  the  county 
of  Kent,  after  the  taking  off  the  coping  of  a  piece  of  ground  there, 
the  workmen  came  to  a  blue  marble,  which  continued  for  three  feet 
and  a  half  deep,  or  more,  and  then  beneath  appeared  a  hard  floor,  or 
pavement,  composed  of  petrified  shells  crowded  closely  together. 
This  layer  was  about  an  inch  deep,  and  several  yards  over ;  and  it 
could  be  walked  upon  as  upon  a  beach.  These  stones,  of  which  it 
was  composed,  (the  describer  supposes  them  to  have  always  been 
stones,)  were  either  wreathed  as  snails,  or  bivalvular  like  cockles. 
The  wreathed  kinds  were  about  the  size  of  a  hazel-nut,  and  were 
filled  with  a  stony  substance  of  the  colour  of  marl ;  and  they  them- 
selves, also,  till  they  were  washed,  were  of  the  same  colour  :  but  when 
cleaned,  they  appeared  of  the  colour  of  bezoar,  and  of  the  same  polish. 
After  boiling  in  water  they  became  whitish,  and  left  a  chalkiness  apon 
the  fingers." £ 

In  several  parts  of  Asia  and  Africa,  travellers  have  observed  theso 
shells  in  great  abundance.  In  the  mountains  of  Castravan,  which  lie 
above  the  city  Barut,  they  quarry  out  a  white  stone,  every  part  of  which 
contains  petrI5ed  fishes  in  great  numbers,  and  of  surprising  diversity. 
They  also  seem  to  continue  in  such  preservation,  that  their  fins,  scales, 
and  all  the  minutest  distinctions  of  their  make,  can  be  perfectly  dis« 
cerned.§ 

Fro.m  all  these  instances  we  may  conclude,  that  fossils  are  very  nu- 
merous ;  and,  indeed,  independent  of  their  situation,  they  afford  no 
small  entertainment  to  observe  them  as  preserved  in  the  cabinets  of  the 
curious.  The  varieties  of  their  kinds  are  astonishing.  Most  of  the 
sea-shells  which  are  known,  and  many  others  to  which  we  are  entirely 
strangers,  are  to  be  seen  either  in  their  natural  state,  or  in  various  de- 
grees of  petrifaction. ||  In  the  place  of  some  we  have  mere  spar,  or 
stone,  exactly  expressing  all  the  lineaments  of  animals,  as  having  been 
wholly  formed  from  them.  For  it  has  happened,  that  the  shells  dis- 
solving by  very  slow  degrees,  and  the  matter  having  nicely  and  exactly 
filled  all  the  cavities  within,  this  matter,  after  the  shells  have  perished, 
has  preserved  exactly  and  regularly  the  whole  print  of  their  internal  sur- 
face. Of  these  there  are  various  kinds  found  in  our  pits  ;  many  of  them 
resembling  those  of  our  own  shores  ;  and  many  others  that  are  only 
*o  be  found  on  the  coasts  of  other  countries.  There  are  some  shells 
resembling  those  that  are  never  stranded  upon  our  coasts,^  but  always 
remain  in  the  deep  :**  and  many  more  there  are  which  .we  can  assimi- 
late with  no  shells  that  are  known  amongst  us.  But  we  find  not  only 
shells  in  our  pits,  but  also  fishes  and  corals  in  great  abundance  ;  to- 
gether with  almost  every  sort  of  marine  productions. 

*  Phi..  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p.  427.        t  Buffon,  vol    i.  p.  407.        J  Phil.  Trans,  p.  42fi 
}  Buffon.  vol.  i.  p.  408.        |]  Hill,  p.  646.        1  Litti  lies.        **  Pela^ii. 


96  A  HISTORY  OF 

It  is  extraordinary  enough,  however,  that  the  common  red  coral, 
though  so  very  frequent  at  sea,  is  scarcely  seen  in  the  fossil  world, 
nor  is  there  any  account  of  its  having  ever  been  met  with.  But  to  com- 
pensate for  this,  there  are  all  the  kinds  of  the  white  coral  now  known, 
and  many  other  kinds  of  that  substance  with  which  we  are  unac- 
quainted. Of  animals  there  are  various  parts  :  the  vertebras  of  whales, 
and  the  mouths  of  lesser  fishes ;  these,  with  teeth  also  of  various 
kinds,  are  found  in  the  cabinets  of  the  curious ;  where  they  receive 
long  Greek  names,  which  it  is  neither  the  intention  nor  the  province 
of  this  work  to  enumerate.  Indeed,  few  readers  would  think  themselves 
much  improved,  should  I  proceed  with  enumerating  the  various  classes 
of  Conicthyodontes,  Polyleptoginglimi,  or  the  Orthoceratites.  These 
names,  which  mean  no  great  matter  when  they  are  explained,  may 
serve  to  guide  in  furnishing  a  cabinet ;  but  they  are  of  very  little 
service  in  furnishing  the  page  of  instructive  history. 

From  all  these  instances  we  see  in  what  abundance  petrifactions 
are  to  be  found  ;  and,  indeed,  Mr.  BuflTon,  to  whose  accounts  we  have 
added  some,  has  not  been  sparing  in  the  variety  of  his  quotations, 
concerning  the  places  where  they  are  mostly  to  be  found.  However, 
I  am  surprised  that  he  should  have  omitted  the  mention  of  one,  which, 
in  some  measure,  more  than  any  of  the  rest,  would  have  served  to 
strengthen  his  theory.  We  are  informed,  by  almost  every  traveller,* 
that  has  described  the  pyramids  of  Egypt,  that  one  of  them  is  entire- 
ly built  of  a  kind  of  free-stone,  in  which  these  petrified  shells  arc 
found  in  great  abundance.  This  being  the  case,  it  may  be  conjectur- 
ed, as  we  have  accounts  of  these  pyramids  among  the  earliest  records 
of  mankind,  and  of  their  being  built  so  long  before  the  age  of  Herodo* 
tus,  who  lived  but  fifteen  hundred  years  after  the  flood,  that  even  the 
Egyptian  priests  could  tell  neither  the  time  nor  the  cause  of  their  erec- 
tion ;  I  say,  it  may  be  conjectured  that  they  were  erected  but  a  short 
time  after  the  flood.  It  is  not  very  likely,  therefore,  that  the  marine 
substances  found  in  one  of  them,  had  time  to  be  formed  into  a  part 
of  the  solid  stone,  either  during  the  deluge,  or  immediately  after  it ; 
and,  consequently,  their  petrifaction  must  have  been  before  that  pe- 
riod. And  this  is  the  opinion  Mr.  Buffon  has  so  strenuously  endea- 
voured to  maintain  ;  having  given  specious  reasons  to  prove,  that 
such  shells  were  laid  in  the  beds  where  they  are  now  found,  not  only 
before  the  deluge,  but  even  antecedent  to  the  formation  of  man,  at 
the  time  when  the  whole  earth,  as  he  supposes,  was  buried  beneath 
a  covering  of  waters. 

But  while  there  are  many  reasons  to  persuade  us  that  these  ex- 
traneous fossils  have  been  deposited  by  the  sea,  there  is  one  fact 
that  will  abundantly  serve  to  convince  us,  that  the  earth  was  habita- 
ble, ft"  not  inhabited,  before  these  marine  substances  came  to  be  thus 
deposited.  For  we  find  fossil-trees,  which  no  doubt  once  grew  upon 
the  earth,  as  deep,  and  as  much  in  the  body  of  solid  rocks,  as  these 
shells  are  found  to  be.  Some  of  these  fallen  trees  also  have  lain  at 
feast  as  «ong,  if  not  longer,  in  the  earth,  than  the  shells,  as  they  have 
been  found  sunk  deep  in  a  marly  substance,  composed  of  decayed 
and  other  marine  productions.  Mr.  Buffon  has  proved,  thai 
»  Hasselmiist,  Sandys. 


THE  EARTH.  ?7 

fossil-shells  could  not  have  been  deposited  in  such  quantities  all  a\ 
once  by  the  flood ;  and  I  think,  from  the  above  instance,  it  is  prettv 
plain,  that,  howsoever  they  were  deposited,  the  earth  was  coverea 
with  trees  before  their  deposition  ;  and,  consequently,  that  the  sea 
could  not  have  made  a  very  permanent  stay.  How  then  shall  we  ac- 
count for  these  extraordinary  appearances  in  nature  ?  A  suspension 
of  all  assent  is  certainly  the  first,  although  the  most  mortifying  con- 
duct. For  my  own  part,  were  I  to  offer  a  conjecture,  and  all  that  has 
been  said  upon  this  subject  is  but  conjecture,  instead  of  supposing 
them  to  be  the  remains  of  animals  belonging  to  the  sea,  I  would  con- 
sider them  rather  as  bred  in  the  numerous  fresh-water  lakes,  that,  in 
primeval  times,  covered  the  face  of  uncultivated  nature.  Some  of  these 
shells  we  know  to  belong  to  fresh  waters ;  some  can  be  assimilated  to 
none  of  the  marine  shells  now  known  ;*  why,  therefore,  may  we  not 
as  well  ascribe  the  productions  of  all  to  fresh  waters,  where  we  do  not 
find  them,  as  we  do  that  of  the  latter  to  the  sea  only,  where  we  never 
find  them  ?  We  know  that  lakes,  and  lands  also,  have  produced  ani- 
mals that  are  now  no  longer  existing  ;  why,  therefore,  might  not  these 
fossil  productions  be  among  the  number  ?  I  grant  that  this  is  making 
a  very  harsh  supposition  ;  but  I  cannot  avoid  thinking,  that  it  is  not 
attended  with  so  many  embarrassments  as  some  of  the  former,  and 
that  it  is  much  easier  to  believe  that  these  shells  were  bred  in  fresh 
water,  than  that  the  sea  had  for  a  long  time  covered  the  tops  of  the 
highest  mountains. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

OP  THE  INTERNAL  STRUCTURE  OP  THE  EARTH. 

HAVING,  in  some  measure,  got  free  from  the  regions  of  conjecture, 
let  us  now  proceed  to  a  description  of  the  earth  as  we  find  it  by  ex- 
amination, and  observe  its  internal  composition,  as  far  as  it  has  been 
the  subject  of  experience,  or  exposed  to  human  inquiry.  These  in- 
quiries, indeed,  have  been  carried  but  to  a  very  little  depth  below  its 
surface,  and  even  in  that  disquisition  men  have  been  conducted  more 
by  motives  of  avarice  than  of  curiosity.  The  deepest  mine,  which  is 
tb at  of  Cotteberg  in  Hungary ,t  reaches  not  more  than  three  thousand 
feet  deep  ;  but  what  proportion  does  that  bear  to  the  depth  of  the  ter- 
restrial globe,  down  to  the  centre,  which  is  above  four  thousand  miles  ? 
All,  therefore,  that  has  been  said  of  the  earth,  to  a  deeper  degree,  is 
merely  fabulous  or  conjectural ;  we  way  suppose  with  one,  that  it  is  a 
globe  of  glass  ;|  with  another,  a  sphere  of  heated  iron  ;§  with  a  third, 
a  great  mass  of  waters  ;||  and  with  a  fourth,  one  dreadful  volcano  ;fl 
but  let  us  at  the  same  time  show  our  consciousness,  that  all  these  are 
but  suppositions. 

Upon  examining  the  earth,  where  it  has  been  opened  to  any  depth, 
the  first  thing  that  occurs,  is  the  different  layers  or  beds  of  which  it  ii 

•  Hill's  Fossils,  p.  641.         f  Boyle,  vol.  iii.  p.  240.          J  Buflui»         }  Whigtan, 
j|  liurnfit.          If  Kirr.her 


28  A  HISTORY  OF 

composed  -,  these  all  lying  horizontally  one  over  the  other,  like  the 
leaves  of  a  book,  and  each  of  them  composed  of  materials  that  increase 
in  weight  in  proportion  as  they  lie  deeper.  This  is,  in  general,  the 
disposition  of  the  different  materials,  where  the  earth  seems  to  have 
remained  unmolested ;  but  this  order  is  frequently  inverted  ;  and  we 
cannot  tell  whether  from  its  original  formation,  or  from  accidental 
causes.  Of  different  substances,  thus  disposed,  tlfe  far  greatest  part 
of  our  globe  consists,  from  its  surface  downwards  to  the  greatest 
depths  we  ever  dig  or  mine  * 

The  first  layer  that  is  most  commonly  found  at  the  surface,  is  that 
light  coat  of  blackish  mould,  which  is  called  by  some  garden  earth. 
With  this  the  earth  is  every  where  invested,  unless  it  be  washed  off  by 
rains,  or  removed  by  some  other  external  violence.  This  seems  to 
have  been  formed  from  animal  and  vegetable  bodies  decaying,  and 
thus  turning  into  its  substance.  It  also  serves  again  as  a  storehouse, 
from  whence  animal  and  vegetable  nature  are  renewed,  and  thus  are 
all  vital  blessings  continued  with  unceasing  circulation.  This  earth, 
however,  is  not  to  be  supposed  entirely  pure,  but  is  mixed  with  much 
stony  and  gravelly  matter  from  the  layers  lying  immediately  beneath 
it.  It  generally  happens,  that  the  soil  is  fertile  in  proportion  to  the 
quantity  that  this  putrified  mould  bears  to  the  gravelly  mixture  ;  and 
as  the  former  predominates,  so  far  is  the  vegetation  upon  it  more  lux- 
uriant. It  is  this  external  covering  that  supplies  man  with  all  the  true 
riches  he  enjoys.  He  may  bring  up  gold  and  jewels  from  greater 
depths  ;  but  they  are  merely  the  toys  of  a  capricious  being,  things  up- 
on whrch  he  has  placed  an  imaginary  value,  and  for  which  fools  alone 
part  with  the  more  substantial  blessings  of  life.  "  It  is  this  earth," 
says  Pliny ,t  "  that,  like  a  kind  mother,  receives  us  at  our  birth,  and 
sustains  us  when  born.  It  is  this  alone,  of  all  the  elements  around  us, 
that  is  never  found  an  enemy  to  man.  The  body  of  waters  deluge 
him  with  rains,  oppress  him  with  hail,  and  drown  him  with  inunda- 
tions. The  air  rushes  in  storms,  prepares  the  tempest,  or  lights  up 
the  volcano ;  but  the  earth,  gentle  and  indulgent,  ever  subservient  to 
the  wants  of  man,  spreads  his  walks  with  flowers,  and  his  table  with 
plenty  ;  returns  with  interest  every  good  committed  to  her  care  ;  and 
though  she  produces  the  poison,  she  still  supplies  the  antidote  ;  though 
constantly  teazed  more  to  furnish  the  luxuries  of  man  "than  his  neces 
sities,  yet,  even  to  the  last,  she  continues  her  kind  indulgence,  and, 
when  life  is  over,  she  piously  covers  his  remains  in  her  bosom." 

This  external  and  fruitful  layer  which  covers  the  earth,  is,  as  was 
said,  in  a  state  of  continual  change.  Vegetables,  which  are  naturally 
fixed  and  rooted  to  the  same  place,  receive  their  adventitious  nourish- 
ment from  the  surrounding  earth  and  water ;  animals,  which  change 
from  place  to  place,  are  supported  by  these,  or  by  each  other.  Both, 
however,  having  for  a  time  enjoyed  a  life  adapted  to  their  nature, 
give  back  to  the  earth  those  spoils,  which  they  had  borrowed  for  a 
very  short  space,  yet  still  to  be  quickened  again  into  fresh  existence. 
But  the  deposits  they  make  are  of  very  dissimilar  kinds,  and  the  earth 
\n  very  differently  enriched  by  their  continuance  :  those  countries  that 

*  Woodward,  p.  9.  f  Plinii  Naturalis  Historia.  lio.  li.  r«p.  6*. 


THE  EARTH.  29 

have  for  a  long  time  supported  men  and  other  animals,  having  been 
observed  to  become  every  day  more  barren  ;  while,  on  the  contrary, 
those  desolate  places,  in  which  vegetables  only  are  abundantly  pro- 
duced, are  known  to  be  possessed  of  amazing  fertility.  "  In  regions 
which  are  uninhabited,"*  says  Mr.  Buffon,  "  where  the  forests  are  not 
cut  down,  and  where  animals  do  not  feed  upon  the  plants,  the  bed 
of  vegetable  earth  is  constantly  increasing.  In  all  woods,  and  even 
in  those  which  are  often  cut,  there  is  a  layer  of  earth  of  six  or  eight 
inches  thick,  which  has  been  formed  by  the  leaves,  branches,  and 
bark,  which  fall  and  rot  upon  the  ground.  I  have  frequently  observed 
on  a  Roman  way,  which  crosses  Burgundy  for  a  long  extent,  that  there 
is  a  bed  of  black  earth,  of  more  than  a  foot  thick,  gathered  over  the 
stony  pavement,  on  which  several  trees,  of  a  very  considerable  size, 
are  supported.  This  I  have  found  to  be  nothing  else  than  an  earth 
formed  by  decayed  leaves  and  branches,  which  have  been  converted 
by  time  into  a  black  soil.  Now  as  vegetables  draw  much  more  of  their 
nourishment  from  the  air  and  water  than  they  do  from  the  earth,  it 
must  follow,  that  in  rotting  upon  the  ground,  they  must  give  more  to 
the  soil  than  they  have  taken  from  it.  Hence,  therefore,  in  woods 
kept  a  long  time  without  cutting,  the  soil  below  increases  to  a  con- 
siderable depth  ;  and  such  we  actually  find  the  soil  in  those  American 
wilds,  where  the  forests  have  been  undisturbed  for  ages.  But  it  is 
otherwise  where  men  and  animals  have  long  subsisted ;  for  as  they 
make  a  considerable  consumption  of  wood  and  plants,  both  for  firing 
and  other  uses,  they  take  more  from  the  earth  than  they  return  to  it ; 
it  follows,  therefore,  that  the  bed  of  vegetable  earth,  in  an  inhabited 
country,  must  be  always  diminishing ;  and  must  at  length  resemble 
the  soil  of  Arabia  Petrea,  and  other  provinces  of  the  East,  which 
having  been  long  inhabited,  are  now  become  plains  of  salt  and  sand  ; 
the  fixed  salt  always  remaining  while  the  other  volatile  parts  have 
flown  away." 

If  from  this  external  surface  we  descend  deeper,  and  view  the  earth 
cut  perpendicularly  downwards,  either  in  the  banks  of  great  rivers,  or 
steepy  sea-shores  ;  or,  going  still  deeper,  if  we  observe  it  in  quarries 
or  mines,  we  shall  find  its  layers  regularly  disposed  in  their  proper 
order.  We  must  not  expect,  however,  to  find  them  of  the  same  kind 
or  thickness  in  every  place,  as  they  differ  in  different  soils  and  situa- 
tions. Sometimes  marl  is  seen  to  be  over  sand,  and  sometimes  under 
it.  The  most  common  disposition  is,  that  under  the  first  earth  is  found 
gravel  or  sand,  then  clay  or  marl,  then  chalk  or  coal,  marbles,  ores, 
sands,  gravels,  and  thus  an  alternation  of  these  substances,  each  grow- 
ing more  dense  as  it  sinks  deeper.  The  clay,  for  instance,  found .  at 
the  depth  of  a  hundred  feet,  is  usually  more  heavy  than  that  found 
not  far  from  the  surface.  In  a  well  which  was  dug  at  Amsterdam,  to 
the  depth  of  two  hundred  and  thirty  feet,  the  following  substances 
were  found  in  succession  :t  seven  feet  of  vegetable  earth,  nine 
of  turf,  nine  of  soft  clay,  eight  of  sand,  four  of  earth,  ten  of  clay,  four 
r»f  earth,  ten  of  sand,  two  of  clay,  four  of  white  sand,  one  of  soft 
earth,  fourteen  of  sand,  eight  of  clay  mixed  with  sand,  four  of  sea* 

•  Buffon,  vJl.  \  p.  353.          t  Varenius,  as  quoted  by  Mr.  Buffon,  p.  358. 


SO  A  HISTORY  OF 

sand  mixed  with  shells,  then  a  hundred  and  two  feet  of  soft  clay,  and 
chen  thirty-one  feet  of  sand. 

In  a  well  dug  at  Marly,  to  the  depth  of  a  hundred  feet,  Mr.  Buffon 
gives  us  a  still  more  exact  enumeration  of  its  layers  of  earth.  "  Thirteen 
of  a  reddish  gravel,  two  of  gravel  mingled  with  a  vitrifiable  sand,  three 
of  mud  or  slime,  two  of  marl,  four  of  marly  stone,  five  of  marl  in  dust 
mixed  with  vitrifiable  sand,  six  of  very  fine  vitrifiable  sand,  three 
of  earthy  marl,  three  of  hard  marl,  one  of  gravel,  one  of  eglantine,  a 
stone  of  the  hardness  and  grain  of  marble,  one  of  gravelly  marl,  one 
of  stony  marl,  one  of  a  coarser  kind  of  stony  marl,  two  of  a  coarser 
kind  still,  one  of  vitrifiable  sand  mixed  with  fossil-shells,  two  of  fine 
gravel,  three  of  stony  marl,  one  of  coarse  powdered  marl,  one  of  stone, 
calcinable  like  marble,  three  of  gray  sand,  two  of  white  sand,  one  of  red 
sand  streaked  with  white,  eight  of  gray  sand  with  shells,  three  of  very 
fine  sand,  three  of  a  hard  gray  stone,  four  of  red  sand  streaked  with 
white,  three  of  white  sand,  and  fifteen  of  reddish  vitrifiable  sand." 

In  this  manner  the  earth  is  every  where  found  in  beds  over  beds ;  and, 
what  is  still  remarkable,  each  of  them,  as  far  as  it  extends,  always  main- 
tains exactly  the  same  thickness.  It  is  found  also,  that  as  we  proceed 
to  considerable  depths,  every  layer  grows  thicker.  Thus  in  the  ad- 
duced instances  we  might  have  observed,  that  the  last  layer  was  fif- 
teen feet  thick,  while  most  of  the  others  were  not  above  eight,  and 
this  might  have  gone  much  deeper,  for  ought  we  can  tell,  as  before 
they  got  through  it  the  workmen  ceased  digging. 

These  layers  are  sometimes  very  extensive,  and  often  are  found  to 
spread  over  a  space  of  some  leagues  in  circumference.  But  it  must 
not  be  supposed  that  they  are  uniformly  continued  over  the  whole 
globe  without  any  interruption :  on  the  contrary,  they  are  ever,  at 
small  intervals,  cracked  through  as  it  were  by  perpendicular  fissures  ; 
the  earth  resembling,  in  this  respect,  the  muddy  bottom  of  a  pond, 
from  whence  the  water  has  been  dried  off  by  the  sun,  and  thus  gaping 
in  several  chinks,  which  descend  in  a  direction  perpendicular  to  its 
surface.  These  fissures  are  many  times  found  empty,  but  oftener* 
closed  up  with  adventitious  substances,  that  the  rain,  or  some 
other  accidental  causes,  have  conveyed  to  fill  their  cavities.  Their 
openings  are  not  less  different  than  their  contents,  some  being  not 
above  half  an  inch  wide,  some  a  foot,  and  some  several  hund-ed  yards 
asunder.  These  last  form  those  dreadful  chasms  that  are  to  be  found 
in  the  Alps,  at  the  edge  of  which  the  traveller  stands  dreading  to  look 
down  at  the  immeasurable  gulf  below.  These  amazing  clefts  are  well 
known  to  such  as  have  passed  these  mountains,  where  a  chasm  fre- 
quently presents  itself  several  hundred  feet  deep,  and  as  many  over, 
at  the  edge  of  which  the  way  lies.  It  often  happens  also,  that  the 
road  leads  along  the  bottom,  and  then  the  spectator  observes  on  each 
side  frightful  precipices  several  hundred  yards  above  him  ;  the  sides 
of  which  correspond  so  exactly  with  each  other,  that  they  evidently 
seem  torn  asunder. 

But  these  chasms,  to  be  found  in  the  Alps,  are  nothing  to  what 
Ovalle  tells  us  are  to  be  seen  in  the  Andes.  These  amazing  moun- 
tains, in  comparison  of  which  the  former  are  but  little  hills,  have  their 
fissures  in  proportion  to  their  greatness.  In  some  places  they  are  9 


THE  EARTH.  51 

mile  wide,  and  deep  in  proportion ;  and  there  are  some  others,  that, 
running  under  ground,  in  extent  resemble  a  province. 

Of  this  kind  also  is  that  cavern  called  Eldenhole,  in  Derbyshire, 
which  Dr.  Plott  tells  us,  was  sounded  by  a  line  of  eight  and  twenty 
hundred  feet,  without  finding  the  bottom,  or  meeting  with  water  :  and 
yet  the  mouth  at  the  top  is  not  above  forty  yards  over.*  This  im- 
measurable cavern  runs  perpendicularly  downward ;  and  the  sides 
of  it  seem  to  tally  so  plainly  as  to  show  that  they  once  were  united. 
Those  who  come  to  visit  the  place,  generally  procure  stones  to  be 
thrown  into  its  mouth  ;  and  these  are  heard  for  several  minutes,  fall- 
ing and  striking  against  the  sides  of  the  cavern,  producing  a  sound 
that  resembles  distant  thunder,  dying  away  as  the  stone  goes  deeper. 

Of  this  kind  also  is  that  dreadful  cavern  described  by  ./Elian  ;  his 
account  of  which  the  reader  may  not  have  met  with.t  "  In  the  coun- 
try of  the  Arrian  Indians,  is  to  be  seen  an  amazing  chasm,  which  is 
called,  The  Gulf  of  Pluto.  The  depth  and  the  recesses  of  this  hor- 
rid place,  are  as  extensive  as  they  are  unknown.  Neither  the  natives, 
nor  the  curious  who  visit  it,  are  able  to  tell  how  it  was  first  made,  or 
to  what  depths  it  descends.  The  Indians  continually  drive  thither 
great  multitudes  of  animals,  more  than  three  thousand  at  a  time,  of  dif- 
ferent kinds,  sheep,  horses,  and  goats  ;  and,  with  an  absurd  supersti- 
tion, force  them  into  the  cavity,  from  whence  they  never  return. 
Their  several  sounds,  however,  are  heard  as  they  descend  ;  the  bleat 
ing  of  sheep,  the  lowing  of  oxen,  and  the  neighing  of  horses,  issuing 
up  to  the  mouth  of  the  cavern.  Nor  do  these  sounds  cease,  as  the 
place  is  continually  furnished  with  a  fresh  supply." 

There  are  many  more  of  these  dreadful  perpendicular  fissures  in 
different  parts  of  the  earth  ;  with  accounts  of  which  Kircher,  GafFa- 
rellus,  and  others  who  have  given  histories  of  the  wonders  of  the  sub- 
terranean world,  abundantly  supply  us.  The  generality  of  readers, 
however,  will  consider  them  with  less  astonishment,  when  they  are  in- 
formed of  their  being  common  all  over  the  earth ;  that  in  every  field, 
in  every  quarry,  these  perpendicular  fissures  are  to  be  found,  either 
still  gaping,  or  filled  with  matter  that  has  accidentally  closed  their  in- 
terstices. The  inattentive  spectator  neglects  the  inquiry,  but  their 
being  common  is  part.V  the  cause  that  excites  the  philosopher's  at- 
tention to  them ;  the  irregularities  of  nature  he  is  often  content  to  let 
pass  unexamined ;  but  when  a  constant  and  common  appearance  pre- 
sents itself,  every  return  of  the  object  is  a  fresh  call  to  his  curiosity  ; 
and  the  chink  in  the  next  quarry  becomes  as  great  a  matter  of  wonder 
as  the  chasm  in  Eldenhole.  Philosophers  have  long,  therefore,  en- 
deavoured to  find  out  the  cause  of  these  perpendicular  fissures,  which 
our  own  countrymen,  Woodward  and  Ray,  were  the  first  that  found  to 
be  so  common  and  universal.  -Mr.  Buffbn  supposes  them  to  be  cracks 
made  by  the  sun,  in  drying  up  the  earth  immediately  after  its  emer 
sion  from  the  deep.  The  heat  of  the  sun  is  very  probably  a  princi- 
pal cause  ;  but  it  is  not  right  to  ascribe  to  one  only,  what  we  find  may 
be  the  result  of  many.  Earthquakes,  severe  frosts,  bursting  waters, 
and  storms,  tearing  up  the  roots  of  trees,  have,  in  our  own  times,  pro 

•    *  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p.  370.  f  .Elian,  Var.  Hist.  lib.  x\\.  cap.  16. 


32  A  HISTORY  OF 

duced  them  :  and  to  this  variety  of  causes,  we  must,  at  present,  b« 
content  to  assign  those  that  have  happened  before  we  had  opportuni- 
ties for  observation. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Or  CAVES  AND  SUBTERRANEOUS  PASSAGES,  THAT  SINK,  BUT  NOT 
PERPENDICULARLY,  INTO  THE  EARTH. 

IN  surveying  the  subterranean  wonders  of  the  globe,  besides  those 
fissures  that  descend  perpendicularly,  we  frequently  find  others  that  de- 
scend but  a  litle  way,  and  then  spread  themselves  often  to  a  great  ex- 
tent below  the  surface.  Many  of  these  caverns,  it  must  be  confessed, 
may  be  the  production  of  art  and  human  industry  ;  retreats  made  to 
protect  the  oppressed,  or  shelter  the  spoiler.  The  famous  labyrinth 
of  Candia,  for  instance,  is  supposed  to  be  entirely  the  work  of  art. 
Mr.  Tournefort  assures  us,  that  it  bears  the  impression  of  human  in- 
dustry, and  that  great  pains  have  been  bestowed  upon  its  formation. 
The  stone-quarry  of  Maastricht  is  evidently  made  by  labour  :  carts  en- 
ter at  its  mouth,  and  load  within,  then  return  and  discharge  their 
freight  into  boats  that  lie  on  the  brink  of  the  river  Maese.  This  quar- 
ry is  so  large,  that  forty  thousand  people  may  take  shelter  in  it :  and 
it  in  general  serves  for  this  purpose,  when  armies  march  that  way ; 
becoming  then  an  impregnable  retreat  to  the  people  that  live  there- 
about. Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  this  cavern,  when  lighted 
up  with  torches ;  for  there  are  thousands  of  square  pillars,  in  large 
level  walks,  about  twenty  feet  high  ;  and  all  wrought  with  much  neat- 
ness and  regularity.  In  this  vast  grotto  there  is  very  little  rubbish  ; 
which  shows  both  the  goodness  of  the  stone,  and  the  carefulness  of  the 
workmen.  To  add  to  its  beauty,  there  also  are,  in  various  parts  of  it, 
little  pools  of  water,  for  the  convenience  of  the  men  and  cattle.  It 
is  remarkable  also,  that  no  droppings  are  seen  to  fall  from  the  roof, 
nor  are  the  walks  any  way  wet  under  foot,  except  in  cases  of  great 
rains,  where  the  water  gets  in  by  the  air-shafts.  The  salt-mines  in 
Poland  are  still  more  spacious  than  these.  Some  of  the  catacombs, 
both  in  Egypt  and  Italy,  are  said  to  be  very  extensive.  But  no  part 
of  the  world  has  a  greater  number  of  artificial  caverns  than  Spain, 
which  were  made  to  serve  as  retreats  to  the  Christians  against  tlte  lu- 
ry  of  the  Moors,  when  the  latter  conquered  that  country.  However, 
an  account  of  the  works  of  art  does  not  properly  belong  to  a  natural 
history.  It  will  be  enough  to  observe,  that  though  caverns  be  found 
in  every  country,  far  the  greatest  part  of  them  have  been  fashioned 
by  the  hand  of  nature  only.  Their  size  is  found  beyond  the  power 
of  man  to  have  effected,  and  their  forms  but  ill  adapted  to  the  con 
veniences  of  a  human  habitation.  In  some  places,  indeed,  we  find 
mankind  still  make  use  of  them  as  houses  ;  particularly  in  those 
countries  where  the  climate  is  very  severe  ;*  but  in  general  they  are 
tleserttd  by  every  race  of  meaner  animals,  except  the  bat ;  these  rtoc- 

»  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p  368. 


THE  EARTH.  33 

turnai  solitary  creatures  are  usually  the  only  inhabitants  ;  and  taese 
only  in  such  whose  descent  is  sloping,  or,  at  least,  not  directly  per- 
pendicular. 

There  is  scarcely  a  country  in  the  world  without  its  natural  caverns  ; 
and  many  new  ones  are  discovered  every  day.  Of  those  in  England, 
Oakey-hole,  the  Devil's-hole,  and  Penpark-hole,  have  been  often  de- 
scribed. The  former,  which  lies  on  the  south  side  of  Mendip-hills,* 
within  a  mile  of  the  town  of  Wells,  is  much  resorted  to  by  travellers. 
To  conceive  a  just  idea  of  this,  we  must  imagine  a  precipice  of  more 
than  a  hundred  yards  high,  on  the  side  of  a  mountain  which  shelves 
away  a  mile  above  it.  In  this  is  an  opening  not  very  large,  into  which 
you  enter,  going  along  upon  a  rocky  uneven  pavement,  sometimes  as- 
cending, and  sometimes  descending.  The  roof  of  it,  as  you  advance, 
grows  higher  :  and,  in  some  places,  is  fifty  feet  from  the  floor.  In 
some  places,  however,  it  is  so  low  that  a  man  must  stoop  to  pass.  It 
extends  itself,  in  length,  about  two  hundred  yards ;  and  from  every 
part  of  the  roof,  and  the  floor,  there  are  formed  sparry  concretions 
of  various  figures,  that  by  strong  imaginations  have  been  likened  to 
men,  lions,  and  organs.  At  the  farthest  part  of  this  cavern  rises  a 
stream  of  water,  well  stored  with  fish,  large  enough  to  turn  a  mill,  and 
which  discharges  itself  near  the  entrance. 

Penpark-hole,  in  Gloucestershire,  is  almost  as  remarkable  as  the 
former.  Captain  Sturmey  descended  into  this  by  a  rope,  twenty-five 
fathoms  perpendicular,  and  at  the  bottom  found  a  very  large  vault  in 
the  shape  of  a  horseshoe.  The  floors  consisted  of  a  kind  of  white 
stone  enamelled  with  lead  ore,  and  the  pendent  rocks  were  glazed 
with  spar.  Walking  forward  on  this  stony  pavement,  for  some  time, 
he  came  to  a  great  river,  twenty  fathoms  broad,  and  eight  fathoms 
deep  ;  and  having  been  informed  that  it  ebbed  and  flowed  with  the 
sea,  he  remained  in  this  gloomy  abode  for  five  hours,  to  make  an  ex- 
act observation.  He  did  not  find,  however,  any  alteration  whatsoever 
in  its  appearance.  But  his  curiosity  was  ill  requited  ;  for  it  cost  this 
unfortunate  gentleman  his  life  :  immediately  after  his  return  he  was 
seized  with  an  unusual  and  violent  headach,  which  threw  him  into  a 
fever,  of  which  he  died  soon  after. 

But  of  all  the  subterranean  caverns  now  known,  the  grotto  of  Anti- 
paros  is  the  most  remarkable,  as  well  for  its  extent,  as  for  the  beauty 
of  its  sparry  incrustations.  This  celebrated  cavern  was  first  discover- 
ed by  one  Magni,  an  Italian  traveller,  about  a  hundred  years  ago,  at 
Anliparos,  an  inconsiderable  island  of  the  Archipelago.t  The  account 
he  gives  of  it  is  long  and  inflated,  but  upon  the  whole  amusing. 
l(  Having  been  informed,"  says  he,  "  by  the  natives  of  Paros,  that  in 
the  little  island  of  Antiparos,  which  lies  about  two  miles  from  the 
former,  of  a  gigantic  statue  that  was  to  be  seen  at  the  mouth  of  a  cavern 
in  that  place,  it  was  resolved  that  we  (the  French  consul  and  himself  ) 
should  pay  it  a  visit.  In  pursuance  of  this  resolution,  after  \ve  had 
landed  on  the  island,  and  walked  about  four  miles  through  the  midst 

«  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p.  368. 

f  Kiroher  Mund.  sub.  112.  I  have  translated  a  part  of  Kircher's  description,  rather  th» 
Touniefort's,  as  the  latter  was  written  to  support  a  Hypothesis. 

voi    i.  C 


34  A  HISTORY  OF 

of  beautiful  plains,  and  sloping  woodlands,  we  at  length  came  to  a  lit- 
tle hill,  on  the  side  of  which  yawned  a  most  horrid  cavern,  that  with 
its  gloom  at  first  struck  us  with  terror,  and  almost  repressed  curiosity. 
Recovering  the  first  surprise,  however,  we  entered  boldly  ;  and  hart 
not  proceeded  above  twenty  paces,  when  the  supposed  statue  of  the 
giant  presented  itself  to  our  view.  We  quickly  perceived,  that  what 
the  ignorant  natives  had  been  terrified  at  as  a  giant,  was  nothing  more 
than  a  sparry  concretion,  formed  by  the  water  dropping  from  the 
roof  of  the  cave,  and  by  degrees  haidening  into  a  figure  that  their 
fears  had  formed  into  a  monster.  Incited  by  this  extraordinary  ap- 
pearance, we  were  induced  to  proceed  still  farther,  in  quest  of  new 
adventures  in  this  subterranean  abode.  As  we  proceeded,  new  won- 
ders offered  themselves  ;  the  spars,  formed  into  trees  and  shrubs,  pre- 
sented a  kind  of  petrified  grove ;  some  white,  some  green ;  and  all 
receding  in  due  perspective.  They  struck  us  with  the  more  amaze- 
ment, as  we  knew  them  to  be  mere  productions  of  nature,  who, 
hitherto  in  solitude,  had,  in  her  playful  moments,  dressed  the  scene  as 
if  for  her  own  amusement. 

"  But  we  had  as  yet  seen  but  a  few  of  the  wonders  of  the  place  ; 
and  were  introduced  only  into  the  portico  of  this  amazing  temple.  In 
one  corner  of  this  half-illuminated  recess,  there  appeared  an  opening 
of  about  three  feet  wide,  which  seemed  to  lead  to  a  place  totally  dark, 
and  that,  one  of  the  natives  assured  us,  contained  nothing  more  than 
a  reservoir  of  water.  Upon  this  we  tried,  by  throwing  down  some 
stones,  which  rumbled  along  the  sides  of  the  descent  for  some  time, 
the  sound  seemed  at  last  quashed  in  a  bed  of  water.  In  order,  how- 
ever, to  be  more  certain,  we  sent  in  a  Levantine  mariner,  who,  by  the 
promise  of  a  good  reward,  with  a  flambeau  in  his  hand,  ventured  in- 
to this  narrow  aperture.  After  continuing  within  it  for  about  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  he  returned,  carrying  some  beautiful  pieces  of  white 
spar  in  his  hand,  which  art  could  neither  imitate  nor  equal.  Upon 
being  informed  by  him  that  the  place  was  full  of  these  beautiful  in- 
crustations, I  ventured  in  once  more  with  him  for  about  fifty  paces, 
anxiously  and  cautiously  descending  by  a  steep  and  dangerous  way. 
Finding,  however,  that  we  came  to  a  precipice  which  led  into  a  spa- 
cious amphitheatre,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  still  deeper  than  any  other  part, 
we  returned,  and  being  provided  with  a  ladder, flambeaux,  and  other 
things  to  expedite  our  descent,  our  whole  company,  man  by  man,  ven- 
tured into  the  same  opening,  and  descending  one  after  another,  we  at 
last  saw  ourselves  all  together  in  the  most  magnificent  part  of  the 
cavern. 

"  Our  candles  being  now  all  lighted  up,  and  the  whole  place  com- 
pletely illuminated,  never  could  the  eye  be  presented  with  a  more 
glittering,  or  a  more  magnificent  scene.  The  roof  all  hung  with  solid 
icicles,  transparent  as  glass,  yet  solid  as  marble.  The  eye  could  scarce- 
ly reach  the  lofty  and  noble  ceiling  :  the  sides  were  regularly  formed 
with  spars  ;  and  the  whole  presented  the  idea  of  a  magnificent  thea- 
tre, illuminated  with  an  immense  profusion  of  lights.  •  The  floor  con- 
sisted of  solid  marble ;  and  in  several  places  magnificent  columns, 
thrones,  altars,  and  other  objects,  appeared,  as  if  nature  had  design 
«d  to  mock  the  curiosities  of  art.  Our  voices,  upon  speaking  oi 


THE  EARTH  g«, 

singing,  were  redoubled  to  an  astonishing  loudntss  ;  and  upon  the 
firing  of  a  gun,  the  noise  and  reverberations  were  almost  deafening. 
In  the  midst  of  this  grand  amphitheatre  rose  a  concretion  of  about  fif- 
teen feet  high,  that,  in  some  measure,  resembled  an  altar  ;  from  which 
taking  the  hint,  we  caused  mass  to  be  celebrated  there.  The  beauti- 
ful columns  that  shot  up  round  the  altar,  appeared  like  candlesticks  ; 
and  many  other  natural  objects  represented  the  customary  ornaments 
of  this  sacrament. 

"  Below  even  this  spacious  grotto  there  seemed  another  cavern  ; 
down  which  I  ventured  with  my  former  mariner,  and  descended  about 
fifty  paces  by  means  of  a  rope.  I  at  last  arrived  at  a  small  spot  of  level 
ground,  where  the  bottom  appeared  different  froir  that  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, being  composed  of  soft  clay,  yielding  to  the  pressure,  and  in 
which  I  thrust  a  stick  to  about  six  feet  deep.  In  this  however,  as 
above,  numbers  of  the  most  beautiful  crystals  were  formed ;  one 
of  which  particularly  resembled  a  table.  Upon  our  egress  from  this 
amazing  cavern,  we  perceived  a  Greek  inscription  upon  a  rock  at  the 
mouth,  but  so  obliterated  by  time,  that  we  could  not  read  it.  It  seem- 
ed to  import  that  one  Antipater,  in  the  time  of  Alexander,  had  come 
thither  ;  but  whether  he  had  penetrated  into  the  depths  of  the  cavern, 
he  does  not  think  fit  to  inform  us." 

Such  is  the  account  of  this  beautiful  scene,  as  communicated  in  a 
letter  to  Kircher.  We  have  another,  and  a  more  copious  description 
of  it,  by  Tournefort,  which  is  in  every  body's  hands  ;  but  I  have 
given  the  above,  both  because  it  was  communicated  by  the  first  dis- 
coverer, and  because  it  is  a  simple  narrative  of  facts,  without  any  rea- 
soning upon  them.  According  to  Tournefort's  account,  indeed,  we 
might  conclude,  from  the  rapid  growth  of  the  spars  in  this  grotto,  that 
it  must  every  year  be  growing  narrower,  and  that  it  must  in  time 
be  choked  up  with  them  entirely ;  but  no  such  thing  has  happen- 
ed hitherto,  and  the  grotto  at  this  day  continues  as  spacious  as  we 
ever  knew  it. 

This  is  not  a  place  for  an  inquiry  into  the  seeming  vegetation  of  those 
stony  substances,  with  which  this  and  almost  every  cavern  are  incrust- 
ed  ;  it  is  enough  to  observe  in  general,  that  they  are  formed  by  an 
accumulation  of  that  little  gritty  matter,  which  is  carried  thither  by  the 
waters,  and  which  in  time  acquires  the  hardness  of  marble.  What 
in  this  place  more  imports  us  to  know  is,  how  these  amazing  hollows 
in  the  earth  came  to  be  formed.  And  I  think,  in  the  three  instances 
above  mentioned,  it  is  pretty  evident,  that  their  excavation  has  been 
owing  to  water.  These,  finding  subterraneous  passages  under  the  earth, 
and  by  long  degrees  hollowing  the  beds  in  which  they  flowed,,  the 
ground  above  them  has  slipped  down  closer  to  their  surface,  leaving  the 
upper  layers  of  the  earth  or  stone  still  suspended  :  the  ground  that 
sinks  upon  the  face  of  the  waters  forming  the  floor  of  the  cavern  ;  the 
ground,  or  rock,  that  keeps  suspended,  forming  the  roof:  and  indeed 
there  are  but  few  of  these  caverns  found  without  water,  either  wilhio 
iiem,  or  near  enough  to  point  out  their  formation. 


96  THE  HISTORY  OF 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

OF  MINES,  DAMPS,  AND   MINERAL   VAPOURS. 

THE  caverns,  which  we  have  been  describing,  generally  carry  us  but 
a  very  little  way  below  the  surface  of  the  earth.  Two  hundred  feet, 
at  the  utmost,  is  as  much  as  the  lowest  of  them  is  found  to  sink.  The 
perpendicular  fissures  run  much  deeper ;  but  few  persons  have  been 
iiold  enough  to  venture  down  to  their  deepest  recesses  ;  and  some  few 
tttio  have  tried,  have  been  able  to  bring  back  no  tidings  of  the  place, 
fir  unfortunately  they  left  their  lives  below.  The  excavations  of  art 
have  conducted  us  much  further  into  the  bowels  of  the  globe.  Some 
mines  in  Hungary  are  known  to  be  a  thousand  yards  perpendicularly 
downwards  ;  and  I  have  been  informed,  by  good  authority,  of  a  coal 
mine  in  the  north  of  England,  a  hundred  yards  deeper  still. 

It  is  beside  our  present  purpose  to  inquire  into  the  peculiar  con- 
struction and  contrivance  of  these,  which  more  properly  belongs  to  the 
history  of  fossils.  It  will  be  sufficient  to  observe  in  this  place,  that  as 
we  descend  into  the  mines,  the  various  layers  of  earth  are  seen  as  we 
have  already  described  them  ;  and  in  some  of  these  are  always  found 
the  metals  or  minerals  for  which  the  mine  has  been  dug.  Thus  fre- 
quently gold  is  found  dispersed  and  mixed  with  clay  and  gravel  ;*  some- 
times it  is  mixed  with  other  metallic  bodies,  stones,  or  bitumens  ;t  and 
sometimes  united  with  that  most  obstinate  of  all  substances,  platina, 
from  which  scarce  any  art  can  separate  it.  Silver  is  sometimes  found 
quite  pure,f  sometimes  mixed  with  other  substances  and  minerals. 
Copper  is  found  in  beds  mixed  with  various  substances,  marbles,  sul- 
phurs, and  pyrites.  Tin,  the  ore  of  which  is  heavier  than  that  of  any 
other  metal,  is  generally  found  mixed  with  every  kind  of  matter  :§  lead 
is  also  equally  common ;  and  iron  we  well  know  can  be  extracted 
from  all  the  substances  upon  earth. 

The  variety  of  substances  which  are  thus  found  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  in  their  native  state, have  a  very  different  appearance  from  what 
they  are  afterwards  taught  to  assume  by  human  industry.  The  rich- 
est metals  are  very  often  less  glittering  and  splendid  than  the  most  use- 
less marcasites  ;  and  the  basest  ores  are  in  general  the  most  beautiful 
to  the  eye. 

This  variety  of  substances,  which  compose  the  internal  parts  of  our 
globe,  is  productive  of  equal  varieties,  both  above  and  below  its  sur- 
face. The  combination  of  the  different  minerals  with  each  other,  the 
heats  which  arise  from  their  mixture,  the  vapours  they  diffuse,  the  fires 
which  they  generate,  or  the  colds  which  they  sometimes  produce,  are 
ail  either  noxious  or  salutary  to  man  ;  so  that  in  this  great  elaborato- 
ry  of  nature,  a  thousand  benefits  and  calamities  are  forging,  of  which 
we  are  wholly  unconscious  ;  and  it  is  happy  for  us  that  we  are  so. 

Upon  our  descent  into  mines  of  considerable  depth,  the  cold  seems 
to  increase  from  the  mouth  as  we  descend  ;||  but  after  passing  very  low 
we  begin  by  degrees  to  come  into  a  warmer  air,  which  sensibly 

Ulloa,  vol.  ii.  p.  470.        f  Ulloa,  ibid.        }  Macquer's  Chymistry,  vol.  i.  p.  316. 
J  Hill's  Fossils,  p.  623.  ||  Boylej  vol.  iii.  p.  232. 


THE  EARTH.  3? 

grows  hotter  as  we  go  deeper,  till,  at  last,  the  labourers  can  scarce 
bear  any  covering  as  they  continue  working. 

This  difference  in  the  air  was  supposed  by  Boyle  to  proceed  from 
magazines  of  fire  that  lay  nearer  the  centre,  and  that  diffused  theii 
heat  to  the  adjacent  regions.  But  we  now  know  that  it  may  be  as- 
cribed to  more  obvious  causes.  In  some  mines,  the  composition  of  the 
earth  all  around  is  of  such  a  nature,  that  upon  the  admission  of  water 
or  air,  it  frequently  becomes  hot,  and  often  bursts  out  into  eruptions. 
Besides  this,  as  the  external  air  cannot  readily  reach  the  bottom,  or 
be  renewed  there,  an  observable  heat  is  perceived  below,  without  t he- 
necessity  of  recurring  to  the  central  heat  for  an  explanation. 

Hence,  therefore,  there  are  two  principal  causes  of  the  warmth  at 
the  bottom  of  mines :  the  heat  of  the  substances  of  which  the  sides 
are  composed ;  and  the  want  of  renovation  in  the  air  below.  Any 
sulphureous  substance,  mixed  with  iron,  produces  a  very  great  heat, 
by  the  admission  of  water.  If,  for  instance,  a  quantity  of  sulphur  be 
mixed  with  a  proportionable  share  of  iron  filings,  and  both  kneaded 
together  into  a  soft  paste,  with  water,  they  will  soon  grow  hot,  and  at 
last  produce  a  flame.  This  experiment,  produced  by  art,  is  very  com- 
monly effected  within  the  bowels  of  the  earth  by  nature.  Sulphurs  and 
irons  are  intimately  blended  together,  and  want  only  the  mixture 
of  water  or  air  to  excite  their  heat ;  and  this,  when  once  raised,  is 
communicated  to  all  bodies  that  lie  within  the  sphere  of  their  opera- 
tion. Those  beautiful  minerals  called  marcasites  and  pyrites,  are  often 
of  this  composition  ;  and  wherever  they  are  found,  either  by  imbibing 
the  moisture  of  the  air,  or  having  been  by  any  means  combined  with 
water,  they  render  the  mine  considerably  hot.* 

The  want  of  fresh  air  also,  at  these  depths,  is,  as  we  have  said, 
another  reason  for  their  being  found  much  hotter.  Indeed,  without 
the  assistance  of  art,  the  bottom  of  most  mines  would,  from  this  cause, 
be  insupportable.  To  remedy  this  inconvenience,  the  miners  are 
often  obliged  to  sink,  at  some  convenient  distance  from  the  mouth 
of  the  pit,  where  they  are  at  work,  another  pit,  which  joins  the  former 
below,  and  which,  in  Derbyshire,  is  called  an  air-shaft.  Through 
this  the  air  circulates;  and  thus  the  workmen  are  enabled  to  breathe 
freely  at  the  bottom  of  the  place ;  which  becomes,  as  Mr.  Boyle 
affirms,  very  commodious  for  respiration,  and  also  very  temperate 
as  to  heat  and  cold.t  Mr.  Locke,  however,  who  has  left  us  an 
account  of  the  Mendip  mines,  seems  to  present  a  different  picture. 
"  The  descent  into  these  is  exceedingly  difficult  and  dangerous  ;  for 
they  are  not  sunk  like  wells,  perpendicularly,  but  as  the  crannies  of 
the  rocks  happen  to  run.  The  constant  method  is  to  swing  down 
by  a  rope  placed  under  the  arms,  and  clamber  along  by  applying  both 
feet  and  hands  to  the  sides  of  the  narrow  passage.  The  air  is  con- 
veyed into  them  through  a  little  passage  that  runs  along  the  sides  from 
the  top,  where  they  set  up  some  turfs,  on  the  lea-side  of  the  hole,  to 
catch  and  force  it  down.  These  turfs  being  removed  to  the  windy 
side,  or  laid  over  the  mouth  of  the  hole,  the  miners  below  presently 
want  breath,  and  faint ;  and  if  sweet-smelling  flowers  chance  to  be 

«  Kircher  Mand.  Subt.  vol.  ii.  p.  216.  t  Boyle,  vol.  iii.  p.  258. 


38  A  HISTORY  OF 

placed  vhere,  they  immediately  lose  their  fragrancy,  and  stink  'ikt 
carrion."  An  air  so  putrifying  can  never  be  very  commodious  for 
respiration. 

lodeed,  if  we  examine  the  complexion  of  most  miners,  we  shall  be 
very  well  able  to  form  a  judgment  of  the  unwholesomeness  of  the 
place  where  they  are  confined.  Their  pale  and  sallow  looks  show  how 
much  the  air  is  damaged  by  passing  through  those  deep  and  winding 
ways,  that  are  rendered  humid  by  damps,  or  warmed  with  noxious  ex- 
halations. But  although  every  mine  is  unwholesome,  all  are  not  equal- 
ly so.  Coal-mines  are  generally  less  noxious  than  those  of  tin  ;  tin 
than  those  of  copper  ;  but  of  all,  none  are  so  dreadfully  destructive  as 
those  of  quicksilver.  At  the  mines  near  the  village  of  Idra,  nothing 
can  adequately  describe  the  deplorable  infirmities  of  such  as  fill  the 
hospital  there  ;  emaciated  and  crippled,  every  limb  contracted  or  con- 
vulsed, and  some  in  a  manner  transpiring  quicksilver  at  every  pore. 
There  was  one  man,  says  Dr.  Pope,*  who  was  not  in  the  mines  above 
half  a  year,  and  yet  whose  body  was  so  impregnated  with  this  mine- 
ral, that  putting  a  piece  of  brass  money  in  his  mouth,  or  rubbing  it 
between  his  fingers,  it  immediately  became  as  white  as  if  it  had  been 
washed  over  with  quicksilver.  In  this  manner  all  the  workmen  are 
killed  sooner  or  later ;  first  becoming  paralytic,  and  then  dying  con- 
sumptive :  and  all  this  they  sustain  for  the  trifling  reward  of  seven- 
pence  a  day. 

But  these  metallic  mines  are  not  so  noxious  from  their  own  vapours, 
as  from  those  of  the  substances  with  which  the  ores  are  usually  united, 
such  as  arsenic,  cinnabar,  bitumen,  or  vitriol.  From  the  fumes  of  these, 
variously  combined,  and  kept  inclosed,  are  produced  those  various 
damps,  that  put  on  so  many  dreadful  forms,  and  are  usually  so  fatal. 
Sometimes  those  noxious  vapours  are  perceived  by  the  delightful  fra- 
grance of  their  smell,t  somewhat  resembling  the  pea-blossom  in  bloom, 
from  whence  one  kind  of  damp  has  its  name.  The  miners  are  not 
deceived,  however,  by  its  flattering  appearances,  but  as  they  thus  have 
timely  notice  of  its  coming,  they  avoid  it  while  it  continues,  which  is 
generally  during  the  whole  summer  season.  Another  shows  its  ap- 
proach by  the  burning  of  the  candles,  which  seem  to  collect  their  flame 
into  a  globe  of  light,  and  thus  gradually  lessen,  till  they  are  quite  ex- 
tinguished. From  this  also,  the  miners  frequently  escape  ;  however, 
such  as  have  the  misfortune  to  be  caught  in  it,  either  swoon  away,  and 
are  suffocated,  or  slowly  recover  in  excessive  agonies.  Here  also  is 
a  third,  called  the  fulminating  damp,  much  more  dangerous  than  either 
of  the  former,  as  it  strikes  down  all  before  it  like  a  flash  of  gunpow 
der,  without  giving  any  warning  of  its  approach.  But  there  is  still 
another,  more  deadly  than  all  the  rest,  which  is  found  in  those  places 
where  the  vapour  has  been  long  confined,  and  has  been,  by  some  ac- 
cident, set  free.  The  air  rushing  out  from  thence,  always  goes  upon 
deadly  errands  ;  and  scarce  any  escape  to  describe  the  symptoms  of  its 
operations. 

Some  colliers  in  Scotland,  working  near  an  old  mine  that  had  been 
)«'Dg  closed  up,  happened,  inadvertently,  to  open  a  hole  into  it,  fro*t 

.     •  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  i'..  p.  578.  f  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p.  375 


THE  EARTH.  39 

*f. e  pit  where  they  were  then  employed.  By  great  good  fortune,  thej 
at  that  time  perceived  their  error,  and  instantly  fled  for  their  lives 
The  next  day,  however,  they  were  resolved  to  renew  their  work  in  the 
same  pit,  and  eight  of  them  ventured  down,  without  any  great  appre- 
hensions ;  but  they  had  scarce  got  to  the  hottom  of  the  stairs  that  le<? 
to  the  pit,  when,  coming  within  the  vapour,  they  all  instantly  dropped 
down  dead,  as  if  they  had  been  shot.  Amongst  these  unfortunate  poor 
men,  there  was  one  whose  wife  was  informed  he  was  stifled  in  the 
mine ;  and,  as  he  happened  to  be  next  the  entrance,  she  so  far  ven- 
tured down  as  to  see  where  he  lay.  As  she  approached  the  place, 
the  sight  of  her  husband  inspired  her  with  a  desire  to  rescue  him, 
if  possible,  from  that  dreadful  situation ;  though  a  little  reflection 
might  have  shown  her  it  was  then  too  late.  But  nothing  could  deter 
her  ;  she  ventured  forward,  and  had  scarce  touched  him  with  her 
hand,  when  the  damp  prevailed,  and  the  misguided,  but  faithful  crea- 
ture, fell  dead  by  his  side. 

Thus  the  vapours  found  beneath  the  surface  of  the  earth,  are  very 
various  in  their  effects  upon  the  constitution  :  and  they  are  not  less  in 
their  appearances.  There  are  many  kinds  that  seemingly  are  no  way 
prejudicial  to  health,  but  in  which  the  workmen  breathe  freely;  and 
yet  in  these,  if  a  lighted  candle  be  introduced,  they  immediately  take 
fire,  and  the  whole  cavern  at  once  becomes  one  furnace  of  flame.  In 
mines,  therefore,  subject  to  damps  of  this  kind,  they  are  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  a  very  peculiar  contrivance  to  supply  sufficient 
light  for  their  operations.  This  is  by  a  great  wheel ;  the  circumfer- 
ence of  which  is  beset  with  flints,  which,  striking  against  steels  placed 
for  that  purpose  at  the  extremity,  a  stream  of  fire  is  produced,  which 
affords  light  enough,  and  yet  which  does  not  set  fire  to  the  mineral  va- 
pour. 

Of  this  kind  are  the  vapours  of  the  mines  about  Bristol:  on  the 
contrary,  in  other  mines,  a  single  spark  struck  out  from  the  collision 
of  flint  and  steel,  would  set  the  whole  shaft  in  a  flame.  In  such, 
therefore,  every  precaution  is  used  to  avoid  collision  ;  the  workmen 
making  use  only  of  wooden  instruments  in  digging ;  and  being  cau- 
tious, before  they  enter  the  mine,  to  take  out  even  the  nails 
from  their  shoes.  Whence  this  strange  difference  should  arise,  that 
the  vapours  of  some  mines  catch  fire  with  a  spark,  and  others  only 
with  a  flame,  is  a  question  that  we  must  be  content  to  leave  in  ob- 
scurity, till  we  know  more  of  the  nature  both  of  mineral  vapour 
and  of  fire.  This  only  we  may  observe,  that  gunpowder  will  readi- 
ly fire  with  a  spark,  but  not  with  the  flame  of  a  candle :  on  the 
other  hand,  spirits  of  wine  will  flame  with  a  candle,  but  not  with 
a  spark;  but  even  here  the  cause  of  this  difference  as  yet  remains 
a  secret. 

As  from  this  account  of  mines,  it  appears  that  the  internal  parts 
of  the  globe  are  filled  with  vapours  of  various  kinds,  it  is  not  surpris- 
ing that  they  should,  at  different  times,  reach  the  surface,  and  there 
put  on  various  appearances.  In  fact,  much  of  the  salubrity,  and  much 
of  the  unwholesomeness  of  climates  and  soils,  is  to  be  ascribed  to 
these  vapours,  which  make  their  way  frorc  the  bowels  of  the  earth 
upwards,  and  refresh  or  taint  the  air  with  their  exhalations.  S.'iri 


40  A  HISTORY  OF 

mines,  being  naturally  cold,*  send  forth  a  degree  of  coldness  to  the 
external  air,  to  comfort  and  refresh  it:  on  the  contrary,  metallic  mmes 
are  known,  not  only  to  warm  it  with  their  exhalations,  but  often  ii» 
destroy  all  kinds  of  vegetation  hy  their  volatile,  corrosive  fumes.  In 
some  mines  dense  vapours  are  plainly  perceived  issuing  from  their 
mouths,  and  sensibly  warm  to  the  touch.  In  some  places,  neither 
snow  nor  ice  will  continue  on  the  ground  that  covers  a  mine ;  and 
over  others  the  fields  are  found  destitute  of  verdure.t  The  inhabi 
tants,  also,  are  rendered  dreadfully  sensible  of  these  subterraneous 
exhalations,  being  affected  with  such  a  variety  of  evils  proceeding  en- 
tirely from  this  cause,  that  books  have  been  professedly  written  upon 
this  class  of  disorders. 

Nor  are  these  vapours,  which  thus  escape  to  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
entirely  unconfined;  for  they  are  frequently,  in  a  manner,  circumscribed 
to  a  spot.  The  grotto  Del  Cane,  near  Naples,  is  an  instance  of  this ; 
the  noxious  effects  of  which  have  made  that  cavern  so  very  famous. 
This  grotto,  which  has  so  much  employed  the  attention  of  travellers, 
lies  within  four  miles  of  Naples,  and  is  situated  near  a  large  lake 
of  clear  and  wholesome  water.J  Nothing  can  exceed  the  beauty  of  the 
landscape  which  this  lake  affords  ;  being  surrounded  with  hills  covered 
with  forests  of  the  most  beautiful  verdure,  and  the  whole  bearing  a 
kind  of  amphitheatrical  appearance.  However,  this  region,  beautiful 
as  it  appears,  is  almost  entirely  uninhabited ;  the  few  peasants  that 
necessity  compels  to  reside  there,  looking  quite  consumptive  and  ghast- 
ly, from  the  poisonous  exhalations  that  rise  from  the  earth.  The 
famous  grotto  lies  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  near  which  place  a  peasant 
resides,  who  keeps  a  number  of  dogs  for  fhe  purpose  of  showing  the 
experiment  to  the  curious.  These  poor  animals  always  seem  perfect- 
ly sensible  of  the  approach  of  a  stranger,  and  endeavour  to  get  out 
of  the  way.  However,  their  attempts  being  perceived,  they  are  taken 
and  brought  to  the  grotto ;  the  noxious  effects  of  which  they  have 
so  frequently  experienced.  Upon  entering  this  place,  which  is  a  little 
cave,  or  hole  rather,  dug  into  the  hill,  about  eight  feet  high,  and  twelve 
feet  long,  the  observer  can  see  no  visible  mark  of  its  pestilential  va- 
pour ;  onlv  to  about  a  foot  from  the  bottom,  the  wall  seems  to  be 
tinged  with  a  colour  resembling  that  which  is  given  by  stagnant  wa- 
ters. When  the  dog,  this  poor  philosophical  martyr,  as  some  have 
called  him,  is  held  above  this  mark,  he  does  not  seem  to  feel  the  small- 
est inconvenience  ;  but  when  his  head  is  thrust  down  lower,  he  strug- 
gles to  get  free  for  a  little;  but  in  the  space  of  four  or  five  minutes 
he  seems  to  lose  all  sensation,  and  is  taken  out  seemingly  without 
life.  Being  plunged  in  the  neighbouring  lake,  he  quickly  recovers, 
and  is  permitted  to  run  home,  seemingly  without  the  smallest  injury 

This  vapour,  which  thus  for  a  time  suffocates,  is  of  the  humid  kind, 
as  it  extinguishes  a  torch,  and  sullies  a  looking-glass ;  but  there  are 
other  vapours  perfectly  inflammable,  and  that  only  require  the  ap- 
proach of  a  candle  to  set  them  blazing.  Of  this  kind  was  the  burn- 
ing well  at  Brosely,  which  is  now  stopped  up  ;  the  vapour  of  which, 

•  Phil,  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p.  523.  f  Boyle,  vol.  Hi.  \>.  238 

J  Kircher,  Mund.  Subt.  vol.  i.  p.  191. 


THE  EARTH.  41 

arhen  t  candle  was  brought  within  about  a  foot  of  the  surface  <  f  the 
water,  caught  flame  like  spirit  of  wine,  and  continued  blazing  for  several 
hours  after.  Of  this  kind,  also,  are  the  perpetual  fires  in  the  king- 
dom of  Persia.  In  that  province,  where  the  worshippers  of  fire  hold 
their  chief  mysteries,  the  whole  surface  of  the  earth,  for  some  extent, 
seems  impregnated  with  inflammable  vapours.  A  reed  stuck  into  the 
ground  continues  to  burn  like  a  flambeau;  a  hole  made  beneath  the 
surface  of  the  earth,  instantly  becomes  a  furnace,  answering  all  the 
purposes  of  a  culinary  fire.  There  they  make  lime  by  merely  bury- 
ing the  stones  in  the  earth,  and  watch  with  veneration  the  appearances 
of  a  flame  that  has  not  been  extinguished  for  times  immemorial.  How 
different  are  men  in  various  climates!  This  deluded  people  worship 
the  vapours  as  a  deity, which,  in  other  parts  of  the  world  are  consider- 
ed as  one  of  the  greatest  evils. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OP  VOLCANOES  AND  EARTHQUAKES. 

MINES  and  caverns,  as  we  have  said,  reach  but  a  very  little  way 
under  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  we  have  hitherto  had  no  oppor- 
tunities of  exploring  farther.  Without  all  doubt,  the  wonders  that  are 
still  unknown  surpass  those  that  have  been  represented,  as  there  are 
depths  of  thousands  of  miles  which  are  hidden  from  our  inquiry. 
The  only  tidings  we  have  from  these  unfathomable  regions  are  by  means 
of  volcanoes,  those  burning  mountains  that  seem  to  discharge  their 
materials  from  the  lowest  abysses  of  the  earth.*  A  volcano  may  be 
considered  as  a  cannon  of  immense  size,  the  mouth  of  which  is  often 
near  two  miles  in  circumference.  From  this  dreadful  aperture  are 
discharged  torrents  of  flame  and  sulphur,  and  rivers  of  melted  metal. 
Whole  clouds  of  smoke  and  ashes,  with  rocks  of  enormous  size,  are  dis- 
charged to  many  miles  distance  ;  so  that  the  force  of  the  most  power- 
ful artillery,  is  but  as  a  breeze  agitating  a  feather  in  comparison.  In 
the  deluge  of  fire  and  melted  matter  which  runs  down  the  sides  of  the 
mountain,  whole  cities  are  sometimes  swallowed  up  and  consumed. 
Those  rivers  of  liquid  fire  are  sometimes  two  hundred  feet  deep ;  and 
when  they  harden,  frequently  form  considerable  hills.  Nor  is  the 
danger  of  these  confined  to  the  eruption  only ;  but  the  force  of  the 
internal  fire  struggling  for  vent,  frequently  produces  earthquakes 
through  the  whole  region  where  the  volcano  is  situated.  So  dreadful 
have  been  these  appearances,  that  men's  terrors  have  added  new  hor- 
rors to  the  scene,  and  they  have  regarded  as  prodigies,  what  we  know 
to  be  the  result  of  natural  causes.  Some  philosophers  have  consider- 
ed them  as  vents  communicating  with  the  fires  of  the  centre ;  and  the 
ignorant,  as  the  mouths  of  hell  itself.  Astonishment  produces  fear, 
and  fear  superstition :  the  inhabitants  of  Iceland  believe  the  bellow- 
ings  of  Hecla  are  nothing  else  but  the  cries  of  the  damned,  and  lhat 
its  eruptions  are  contrived  to  increase  their  tortures. 

•  Buffon,  vol  ».  p.  291. 


42  A  HISTORY  OF 

But  if  we  regard  this  astonishing  scene  of  terror  with  a  more  trail 
quil  and  inquisitive  eye,  we  shall  find  that  these  conflagrations  are 
produced  by  very  obvious  and  natural  causes.  We  have  already  been 
apprised  of  the  various  mineral  substances  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth, 
and  their  aptness  to  burst  out  into  flames.  Marcasites  and  pyrites,  in 
particular,  by  being  humified  with  water  or  air,  contract  this  heat,  and 
often  endeavour  to  expand  with  irresistible  explosion.  These,  there- 
fore, being  lodged  in  the  depths  of  the  earth,  or  in  the  bosom  of  moun 
tains,  and  being  either  washed  by  the  accidental  influx  of  waters  be 
low,  or  fanned  by  air,  insinuating  itself  through  perpendicular  fissures 
from  above,  take  fire  at  first  by  only  heaving  in  earthquakes,  but  at 
length  by  bursting  through  every  obstacle,  and  making  their  dreadful 
discharge  in  a  volcano. 

These  volcanoes  are  found  in  all  parts  of  the  earth :  in  Europe 
there  are  three  that  are  very  remarkable :  ./Etna  in  Sicily,  Vesuvius 
in  Italy,  and  Hecla  in  Iceland.  ./Etna  has  been  a  volcano  for  ages 
immemorial.  Its  eruptions  are  very  violent,  and  its  discharge  has 
been  known  to  cover  the  earth  sixty-eight  feet  deep.  In  the  year 
1537)  an  eruption  of  this  mountain  produced  an  earthquake  through 
the  whole  island  for  twelve  days,  overturned  many  houses,  and  at  last 
formed  a  new  aperture,  which  overwhelmed  all  within  five  leagues  round. 
The  cinders  thrown  up  were  driven  even  into  Italy,  and  its  burnings 
were  seen  at  Malta  at  the  distance  of  sixty  leagues.  "  There  is  nothing 
more  awful,"  says  Kircher,  "  than  the  eruptions  of  this  mountain,  nor 
nothing  more  dangerous  than  attempting  to  examine  its  appearances, 
even  long  after  the  eruption  has  ceased.  As  we  attempt  to  clamber 
up  its  stcepy  sides,  every  step  we  take  upward,  the  feet  sink  back 
half  way.  Upon  arriving  near  the  summit,  ashes  and  snow,  with  an 
ill-assorted  conjunction,  present  nothing  but  objects  of  desolation. 
Nor  is  this  the  worst,  for,  as  all  places  are  covered  over,  many  caverns 
are  entirely  hidden  from  the  sight,  into  which  if  the  inquirer  happens 
to  fall,  he  sinks  to  the  bottom,  and  meets  inevitable  destruction.  Upon 
coming  to  the  edge  of  the  great  crater,  nothing  can  sufficiently  repre- 
sent the  tremendous  magnificence  of  the  scene.  A  gulf  two  miles 
over,  and  so  deep  that  no  bottom  can  be  seen  ;  on  the  sides  pyramidi- 
cal  rocks  starting  out  between  apertures  that  emit  smoke  and  flame ; 
nil  this  accompanied  with  a  sound  that  never  ceases,  louder  than 
thunder,  strikes  the  bold  with  horror,  and  the  religious  with  venera- 
tion for  HIM  that  has  power  to  control  its  burnings." 

In  the  descriptions  of  Vesuvius,  or  Hecla,  we  shall  find  scarcely  any 
thing  but  a  repetition  of  the  same  terrible  objects,  but  rather  lessened, 
as  these  mountains  are  not  so  large  as  the  former.  The  crater  of  Ve- 
suvius is  but  a  mile  across,  according  to  the  same  author ;  whereas 
that  of  ./Etna  is  two.  On  this  particular,  however,  we  must  place  no 
dependence,  as  these  caverns  every  day  alter ;  being  lessened  by  the 
mountain's  sinking  at  one  eruption,  and  enlarged  by  the  fury  of  another. 
It  is  not  one  of  the  least  remarkable  particulars  respecting  Vesuvius, 
that  Pliny  the  naturalist  was  suffocated  in  one  of  its  eruptions  ;  for  his 
curiosity  impelling  him  too  near,  he  found  himself  involved  in  smoke 
and  cinders  when  it  was  too  late  to  retire  ;-  and  his  companions  hard- 
ly escaped  to  give  an  account  of  the  misfortune.  It  was  in  that  dread 


THE  EARTH.  43 

fnl  eruption  that  the  city  of  Herculaneum  was  overwhelmed ;  the  ru- 
ms of  which  have  lately  been  discovered  at  sixty  feet  distance  below 
;ne  surface,  and,  what  is  still  more  remarkable,  forty  feet  below  the 
bed  of  the  sea.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  eruptions  of  this  moun- 
tain was  in  the  year  1707)  which  is  finely  described  by  Valetta ;  a 
part  of  whose  description  I  shall  beg  leave  to  translate. 

"  Towards  the  latter  end  of  summer,  in  the  year  1707)  the  Mount 
Vesuvius,  that  had  for  a  long  time  been  silent,  now  began  to  give  some 
signs  of  commotion.  Little  more  than  internal  murmurs  at  first  were 
heard,  that  seemed  to  contend  within  the  lowest  depths  of  the  mountain ; 
no  flame,  nor  even  any  smoke,  was  as  yet  seen.  Soon  after  some  smoke 
appeared  by  day,  and  a  flame  by  night,  which  seemed  to  brighten  all 
the  campania.  At  intervals,  also,  it  shot  off  substances  with  a  sound 
very  like  that  of  artillery,  but  which,  even  at  so  great  a  distance 
as  we  were  at,  infinitely  exceeded  them  in  greatness.  Soon  after  it 
began  to  throw  up  ashes,  which  becoming  the  sport  of  the  winds,  fell 
at  great  distances,  and  some  many  miles.  To  this  succeeded  showers 
of  stones,  which  killed  many  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  valley,  but 
made  a  dreadful  ravage  among  the  cattle.  Soon  after  a  torrent 
of  burning  matter  began  to  roll  down  the  sides  of  the  mountain,  at 
first  with  a  slow  and  gentle  motion,  but  soon  with  increased  celerity. 
The  matter  thus  poured  out,  when  cold,  seemed  upon  inspection  to  be 
of  vitrified  earth,  the  whole  united  into  a  mass  of  more  than  stony 
hardness.  But  what  was  particularly  observable  was,  that  upon  the 
whole  surface  of  these  melted  materials,  a  light  spongy  stone  seemed 
to  float,  while  the  lower  body  was  of  the  hardest  substance  of  which 
our  roads  are  usually  made.  Hitherto  there  were  no  appearances  but 
what  had  been  often  remarked  before  ;  but  on  the  third  or  fourth  day, 
seeming  flashes  of  lightning  were  shot  forth  from  the  mouth  of  the 
mountain,  with  a  noise  far  exceeding  the  loudest  thunder.  These 
flashes,  in  colour  and  brightness,  resembled  what  we  usually  see  in 
tempests,  but  they  assumed  a  more  twisted  and  serpentine  form.  Af- 
ter this  followed  such  clouds  of  smoke  and  ashes,  that  the  whole  city 
of  Naples,  in  the  midst  of  the  day,  was  involved  in  nocturnal  darkness, 
and  the  nearest  friends  were  unable  to  distinguish  each  other  in  this 
frightful  gloom.  If  any  person  attempted  to  stir  out  without  torch- 
light, he  was  obliged  to  return,  and  every  part  of  the  city  was  filled 
with  supplications  and  terror.  At  length,  after  a  continuance  of  some 
hours,  about  one  o'clock  at  midnight,  the  wind  blowing  from  the  north, 
the  stars  began  to  be  seen  ;  the  heavens,  though  it  was  night,  began 
to  grow  brighter ;  and  the  eruptions,  after  a  continuance  of  fifteen 
days,  to  lessen.  The  torrent  of  melted  matter  was  sees  to  extend 
from  the  mountain  down  to  the  shore  ;  the  people  began  to  return  to 
their  former  dwellings,  and  the  whole  face  of  nature  to  resume  its, 
former  appearance." 

The  famous  Bishop  Berkeley  gives  an  account  of  one  of  these  erup- 
tions in  a  manner  something  different  from  the  former.*  'v  In  the 
year  1717,  and  the  middle  of  April,  with  much  difficulty  I  reached  the 
top  of  Mount  Vesuvius,  in  which  I  saw  a  vast  aperture  fu.l  of  smoke 

•  PhiL  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p.  209. 


44  A  HISTORY  OF 

which  hindered  me  from  seeing  its  depth  and  figure.  I  heard  within 
that  horrid  gulf  certain  extraordinary  sounds,  which  seemed  to  pro- 
ceed from  the  bowels  of  the  mountain  ;  a  sort  of  murmuring.,  sighing, 
dashing  sound  ;  and,  between  whiles,  a  noise  like  that  of  thunder  or 
cannon,  with  a  clattering  like  that  of  tiles  falling  from  the  tops 
of  houses  into  the  streets.  Sometimes,  as  the  wind  changed,  the  smoke 
grew  thinner,  discovering  a  very  ruddy  flame,  and  the  circumference 
of  the  crater  streaked  with  red  and  several  shades  of  yellow.  Af- 
ter an  hour's  stay,  the  smoke,  being  moved  by  the  wind,  gave  us 
short  and  partial  prospects  of  the  great  hollow ;  in  the  flat  bottom 
of  which  I  could  discern  two  furnaces  almost  contiguous ;  that  on  the 
left  seeming  about  three  yards  over,  glowing  with  ruddy  flame,  and 
throwing  up  red-hot  stones  with  a  hideous  noise,  which,  as  they  fell 
back,  caused  the  clattering  already  taken  notice  of. — May  8,  in  the 
morning,  I  ascended  the  top  of  Vesuvius  a  second  time,  and  found  a 
different  face  of  things.  The  smoke  ascending  upright,  gave  a  full 
prospect  of  the  crater,  which,  as  I  could  judge,  was  about  a  mile  in  cir- 
cumference, and  a  hundred  yards  deep.  A  conical  mount  had  been 
formed,  since  my  last  visit,  in  the  middle  of  the  bottom,  which  I  could 
see  was  made  by  the  stones,  thrown  up  and  fallen  back  again  into  the 
crater  In  this  new  hill  remained  the  two  furnaces  already  mentioned. 
The  one  was  seen  to  throw  up  every  three  or  four  minutes,  with  a  dread- 
ful sound,  a  vast  number  of  red-hot  stones,  at  least  three  hundred  feet 
higher  than  my  head,  as  I  stood  upon  the  brink ;  but  as  there  was  no  wind, 
they  fell  perpendicularly  back  from  whence  they  had  been  discharged. 
The  other  was  filled  with  red-hot  liquid  matter,  like  that  in  the  fur- 
nace of  a  glass-house,  raging  and  working  like  the  waves  of  the  sea, 
with  a  short  abrupt  noise.  This  matter  would  sometimes  boil  over, 
and  run  down  the  side  of  the  conical  hill,  appearing  at  first  red-hot, 
but  changing  colour  as  it  hardened  and  cooled.  Had  the  wind  driven 
in  our  faces,  we  had  been  in  no  small  danger  of  stifling  by  the  sul- 
phureous smoke,  or  being  killed  by  the  masses  of  melted  minerals  that 
were  shot  from  the  bottom.  But  as  the  wind  was  favourable,  I  had 
an  opportunity  of  surveying  this  amazing  scene  for  above  an  hour  and 
a  half  together.  On  the  fifth  of  June,  after  a  horrid  noise,  the  moun- 
tain was  seen  at  Naples  to  work  over;  abd  about  three  days  after, 
its  thunders  were  renewed  so,  that  not  only  the  windows  in  the  city, 
but  all  the  houses,  shook.  From  that  time  it  continued  to  overflow, 
and  sometimes  at  night  were  seen  columns  of  fire  shooting  upward 
from  its  summit.  On  the  tenth,  when  all  was  thought  to  be  over,  the 
mountain  again  renewed  its  terrors,  roaring  and  raging  most  violently. 
One  cannot  form  a  juster  idea  of  the  noise,  in  the  most  violent  fits 
of  it,  than  by  imagining  a  mixed  sound  made  up  of  the  raging  of  a  tem- 
pest, the  murmur  of  a  troubled  sea,  and  the  roaring  of  thunder  and 
artillery  confused  all  together.  Though  we  heard  this  at  the  distance 
of  twelve  miles,  yet  it  was  very  terrible.  I  therefore  resolved  to  ap- 
proach nearer  to  the  mountain  ;  and,  accordingly,  three  or  four  of  us 
got  into  a  boat,  and  were  set  ashore  at  a  little  town  situated  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain.  From  thence  we  rode  about  four  or  five  miles., 
before  we  came  to  the  torrent  of  fire  that  was  descending  from  th* 
side  of  the  volcano  ;  and  here  the  roaring  grew  exceedingly  )<»id  anil 


THE  EARTH.  43 

«errib\e  as  we  approached.  I  observed  a  mixture  of  colours  in  the 
cloud,  above  the  crater,  green,  yellow,  red,  and  blue.  There  was  like- 
wise a  ruddy  dismal  light  in  the  air,  over  that  tract  where  the  burn- 
ing river  flowed.  These  circumstances,  set  off  and  augmented  by  thu 
horror  of  the  night,  made  a  scene  the  most  uncommon  and  astonish- 
ing I  ever  sa^v ;  which  still  increased  as  we  approached  the  burning 
river.  Imagine  a  vast  torrent  of  liquid  fire,  rolling  from  the  top, 
down  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and  with  irresistible  fury  bearing  down 
and  consuming  vines,  olives,  and  houses ;  and  divided  into  different 
channels,  according  to  the  inequalities  of  the  mountain.  The  largest 
stream  seemed  half  a  mile  broad  at  least,  and  five  miles  long.  I  walked 
so  far  before  my  companions  up  the  mountain,  along  the  side  of  the 
river  of  fire,  that  I  was  obliged  to  retire  in  great  haste,  the  sulphure- 
ous steam  having  surprised  me,  and  almost  taken  away  my  breath. 
During  our  return,  which  was  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the 
roaring  of  the  mountain  was  heard  all  the  way,  while  we  observed  it 
throwing  up  huge  spouts  of  fire  and  burning  stones,  which  falling,  re- 
sembled the  stars  in  a  rocket.  Sometimes  I  observed  two  or  three 
distinct  columns  of  flame,  and  sometimes  one  only  that  was  large 
enough  to  fill  the  whole  crater.  These  burning  columns,  and  fiery 
stones,  seemed  to  be  shot  a  thousand  feet  perpendicular  above  the 
summit  of  the  volcano  ;  and  in  this  manner  the  mountain  continued 
raging  for  six  or  eight  days  after.  On  the  18th  of  the  same  month, 
the  whole  appearance  ended,  and  the  mountain  remained  perfectly 
quiet,  without  any  visible  smoke  or  flame." 

The  matter  which  is  found  to  roll  down  from  the  mouth  of  all  vol- 
canoes in  general,  resembles  the  dross  that  is  thrown  from  a  smith's 
forge.  But  it  is  different,  perhaps,  in  various  parts  of  the  globe ;  for, 
as  we  have  already  said,  there  is  not  a  quarter  of  the  world  that  has 
not  its  volcanoes.  In  Asia,  particularly  in  the  islands  of  the  Indian 
Ocean,  there  are  many.  One  of  the  most  famous  is  that  of  Albouras, 
near  Mount  Taurus,  the  summit  of  which  is  continually  on  fire,  and 
covers  the  whole  adjacent  country  with  ashes.  In  the  island  of  Ter- 
nate  there  is  a  volcano,  which,  some  travellers  assert,  burns  most  furi- 
ously in  the  times  of  the  equinoxes,  because  of  the  winds  which  then 
contribute  to  increase  the  flames.  In  the  Molucca  islands,  there  are 
many  burning  mountains  ;  they  are  also  seen  in  Japan,  and  the  islands 
adjacent;  and  in  Java  and  Sumatra,  as  well  as  in  other  of  the  Philip- 
pine islands.  In  Africa  there  is  a  cavern,  near  Fez,  which  contimi 
ally  sends  forth  either  smoke  or  flames.  In  the  Cape  de  Verde  islands, 
one  of  them,  called  the  Island  del  Fuego,  continually  burns  ;  and  the 
Portuguese,  who  frequently  attempted  a  settlement  there,  have  as 
often  been  obliged  to  desist.  The  Peak  of  Teneriffe  is,  as  every  bodv 
knows,  a  volcano,  that  seldom  desists  from  eruptions.  But  of  all  parts 
of  the  earth,  America  is  the  place  where  those  dreadful  irregularities- 
of  nature  are  the  most  conspicuous.  Vesuvius,  and  ./Etna  itself,  are 
but  mere  fire-works  in  comparison  to  the  burning  mountains  of  the 
Andes ;  which,  as  they  are  the  highest  mountains  of  the  world,  so 
also  are  they  the  most  formidable  for  their  eruptions.  The  moun- 
tain of  Arequipa  in  Peru,  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated ;  Tarassa. 
»nd  Malahallo,  are  very  considerable  ;  but  that  of  Co*opaxi,  in  ft*** 


46  THE  HISTORY  OF 

province  of  Quito,  exceeds  any  thing  we  have  hitherto  read  or  heard  of 
The  mountain  of  Cotopaxi,  as  described  by  Ulloa,*  is  more  than  thre-*j 
miles  perpendicular  from  the  sea;  and  it  became  a  volcano  at  the 
time  of  the  Spaniards'  first  arrival  in  that  country.  .  A  new  eruption 
of  it  happened  in  the  year  1743,  having  been  some  days  preceded  by 
a  continual  roaring  in  its  bowels.  The  sound  of  one  of  these  moun- 
tains is  not,  like  that  of  the  volcanoes  in  Europe,  confined  to  a  province, 
but  is  heard  at  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  distance.!  "  An  aperture 
was  made  in  the  summit  of  this  immense  mountain;  and  three  moro 
about  equal  heights,  near  the  middle  of  its  declivity,  which  was  at 
that  time  buried  under  prodigious  masses  of  snow.  The  ignited  sub- 
stances ejected  on  that  occasion,  mixed  with  a  prodigious  quantity  of  ice 
and  snow,  melting  amidst  the  flames,  were  carried  down  with  such 
astonishing  rapidity,  that  in  an  instant  the  valley  from  Callo  to  Lata- 
cunga  was  overflowed ;  and  besides  its  ravages  in  bearing  down  the 
houses  of  the  Indians,  and  other  poor  inhabitants,  great  numbers 
of  people  lost  their  lives.  The  river  of  Latacunga  was  the  channel 
of  this  terrible  flood ;  till  being  too  small  for  receiving  such  a  pro- 
digious current,  it  overflowed  the  adjacent  country,  like  a  vast  lake 
near  the  town,  and  carried  away  all  the  buildings  within  its  reach. 
The  inhabitants  retired  into  a  spot  of  higher  ground  behind  the  town, 
of  which  those  parts  which  stood  within  the  limits  of  the  current  were 
totally  destroyed.  The  dread  of  still  greater  devastations  did  not  sub- 
side for  three  days  ;  during  which  the  volcano  ejected  cinders,  while 
torrents  of  melted  ice  and  snow  poured  down  its  sides.  The  erup- 
tion lasted  several  days,  and  was  accompanied  with  terrible  roarings 
of  the  wind,  rushing  through  the  volcano,  still  louder  than  the  former 
rumblings  in  its  bowels.  At  last  all  was  quiet,  neither  fire  nor  smoke 
to  be  seen,  nor  noise  to  be  heard  ;  till,  in  the  ensuing  year,  the  flames 
again  appeared  with  recruited  violence,  forcing  their  passage  through 
several  other  parts  of  the  mountain,  so  that  in  clear  nights  the  flames 
being  reflected  by  the  transparent  ice,  formed  an  awfully  magnificent 
illumination." 

Such  is  the  appearance  and  the  effect  of  those  fires  which  proceed 
from  the  more  inward  recesses  of  the  earth  :  for  that  they  generally 
come  from  deeper  regions  than  man  has  hitherto  explored,  I  cannot 
avoid  thinking,  contrary  to  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Buffbn,  who  supposes 
them  rooted  but  a  very  little  way  below  the  bed  of  the  mountain. 
"  We  can  never  suppose,"  says  this  great  naturalist,  "  that  these  sub- 
stances are  ejected  from  any  great  distance  below,  if  we  only  consider 
the  great  force  already  required  to  fling  them  up  to  such  vast  heights 
above  the  mouth  of  the  mountain  ;  if  we  consider  the  substances 
thrown  up,  which  we  shall  find  upon  inspection  to  be  the  same  with 
those  of  the  mountain  below ;  if  we  take  into  our  consideration,  that 
air  is  always  necessary  to  keep  up  the  flame;  but,  most  of  all,  if  we 
attend  to  one  circumstance,  which  is,  that  if  these  substanceswereex- 
ploded  from  a  vast  depth  below,  the  same  force  required  to  shoot 
them  up  so  high,  would  act  against  the  sides  of  the  volcano,  and  tear 
the  whole  mountain  in  pieces."  To  all  this  specious  reasoning,  ^»ar- 

*  Ulloa,  vol.  i.  p.  442.  f  Utto*,  vol.  i.  p.  442 


THE  EARTH  47 

ticular  answers  might  be  easily  given ;  as,  that  the  length  of  the  funnel 
increases  the  force  of  the  explosion ;  that  the  sides  of  the  funnel  are 
actually  often  burst  with  the  great  violence  of  the  flame  ;  that  air 
may  be  supposed  at  depths  at  least  as  far  as  the  perpendicular  fissures 
descend.  But  the  best  answer  is  a  well-known  fact ;  namely,  that  the 
quantity  of  matter  discharged  from  jEtna  alone,  is  supposed,  upon  a 
moderate  computation,  to  exceed  twenty  times  the  original  bulk  of  the 
mountain.*  The  greatest  part  of  Sicily  seems  covered  with  its  erup- 
tions. The  inhabitants  of  Catanea  have  found,  at  the  distance  of  seve- 
ral miles,  streets  and  houses  sixty  feet  deep,  overwhelmed  by  the  lava 
or  matter  it  has  discharged.  But  what  is  slill  more  remarkable,  the 
walls  of  these  very  houses  have  been  built  of  materials  evidently 
thrown  up  by  the  mountain.  The  inference  from  all  this  is  very  ob- 
vious ;  that  the  matter  thus  exploded  cannot  belong  to  the  mountain 
itself,  otherwise  it  would  have  been  quickly  consumed  ;  it  cannot  be 
derived  from  moderate  depths,  since  its  amazing  quantity  evinces,  that 
all  the  places  near  the  bottom  must  have  long  since  been  exhausted ; 
nor  can  it  have  an  extensive,  and,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  a  superficial 
spread,  for  then  the  country  round  would  be  quickly  undermined ;  it 
must,  therefore,  be  supplied  from  the  deeper  regions  of  the  earth  ; 
those  undiscovered  tracts  where  the  Deity  performs  his  wonders  in 
solitude,  satisfied  with  self-approbation  ! 


CHAPTER  X, 

OF   EARTHQUAKES. 

HAVING  given  the  theory  of  volcanoes,  we  have,  in  some  measure, 
given  also  that  of  earthquakes.  They  both  seem  to  proceed  from  the 
same  cause,  only  with  this  difference,  that  the  fury  of  the  volcano  is 
spent  in  the  eruption ;  that  of  an  earthquake  spreads  wider,  and  acts 
more  fatally  by  being  confined.  The  volcano  only  affrights  a  province, 
earthquakes  have  laid  whole  kingdoms  in  ruin. 

Philosophers!  have  taken  some  pains  to  distinguish  between  the  va- 
rious kinds  of  earthquakes,  such  as  the  tremulous,  the  pulsative,  the 
perpendicular,  and  the  inclined  ;  but  these  are  rather  the  distinctions 
of  art  than  of  nature,  mere  accidental  differences  arising  from  the 
situation  of  the  country  or  of  the  cause.  If,  for  instance,  the  confined 
fire  acts  directly  under  a  province  or  a  town,  it  will  heave  the  earth 
perpendicularly  upward,  and  produce  a  perpendicular  earthquake. 
If  it  acts  at  a  distance,  it  will  raise  that  tract  obliquely,  and  thus  the 
inhabitants  will  perceive  an  inclined  one. 

Nor  does  it  seem  to  me  that  there  is  much  greater  reason  for  Mr. 
^uffon's  distinction  of  earthquakes.  One  kind  of  which  he  supposes^ 
to  be  produced  by  fire  in  the  manner  of  volcanoes,  and  confined  to 
but  a  very  narrow  circumference.  The  other  kind  he  ascribes  to  the 
struggles  of  confined  air,  expanded  by  heat  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
and  endeavouring  to  get  free.  For  how  do  these  two  causes  differ  ? 

•  Kircher,  Mund.  Subt.  vol.  i.  p.  202.  \ Aristotle,  Agricola,  Buffon.  {  Buffon,  vol.  ii.  p.  32S 


48  A  HISTORY  OF 

Fire  is  an  agent  of  no  power  whatsoever  without  air.  It  is  the  air, 
which  being  at  first  compressed,  and  then  dilated  in  a  cannon,  that 
drives  the  ball  with  such  force.  It  is  the  air  struggling  for  vent  in 
a  volcano,  that  throws  up  its  contents  to  such  vast  heights.  In 
short,  it  is  the  air  confined  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  acquiring 
elasticity  by  heat,  that  produces  all  those  appearances  which  are  gene- 
rally ascribed  to  the  operation  of  fire.  When,  therefore,  we  are  told 
that  there  are  two  causes  of  earthquakes,  we  only  learn  that  a  greater 
or  smaller  quantity  of  heat  produces  those  terrible  effects  ;  for  air  is 
the  only  active  operator  in  either. 

Some  philosophers,  however,  have  been  willing  to  give  the  air  as 
great  a  share  in  producing  these  terrible  effects  as  they  could  ;  and, 
magnifying  its  powers,  have  called  in  but  a  very  moderate  degree 
of  heat  to  put  it  in  action.  Although  experience  tells  us  that  the  earth 
is  full  of  inflammable  materials,  and  that  fires  are  produced  wherever 
we  descend ;  although  it  tells  us  that  those  countries  where  there  are 
volcanoes  are  most  subject  to  earthquakes ;  yet  they  step  out  of  their 
way,  and  so  find  a  new  solution.  These  only  allow  but  just  heat 
enough  to  produce  the  most  dreadful  phenomena,  and  backing  their 
assertions  with  long  calculations,  give  theory  an  air  of  demonstration 
Mr.  Amontons*  has  been  particularly  sparing  of  the  internal  heat  in 
this  respect ;  and  has  shown,  perhaps  accurately  enough,  that  a  very 
moderate  degree  of  heat  may  suffice  to  give  the  air  amazing  powers 
of  expansion. 

It  is  amusing  enough,  however,  to  trace  the  progress  of  a  philo- 
sophical fancy  let  loose  in  imaginary  speculations.  They  run  thus  : 
"  A  very  moderate  degree  of  heat  may  bring  the  air  into  a  condition- 
capable  of  producing  earthquakes  ;  for  the  air,  at  the  depth  of  torty- 
three  thousand  five  hundred  and  twenty-eight  fathom  below  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth,  becomes  almost  as  heavy  as  quicksilver.  This, 
however,  is  but  a  very  slight  depth  in  comparison  of  the  distance  to 
the  centrf ;  and  is  scarce  a  seventieth  part  of  the  way.  The  air,  there- 
fore, at  the  centre,  must  be  infinitely  heavier  than  mercury,  or  any 
body  that  we  know  of.  This  granted,  we  shall  take  something  more, 
and  say,  that  it  is  very  probable  there  is  nothing  but  air  at  the  centre. 
Now  let  us  suppose  this  air  heated,  by  some  means,  even  to  the  de- 
gree of  boiling  water,  as  we  have  proved  that  the  density  of  the  air  is 
here  very  great,  its  elasticity  must  be  in  proportion  ;  a  heat,  therefore, 
which  at  the  surface  of  the  earth  would  have  produced  but  a  slight 
expansive  force,  must,  at  the  centre,  produce  one  very  extraordinary, 
ana,  K  short,  be  perfectly  irresistible.  Hence  this  force  may,  wilh 
great  ease,  produce  earthquakes ;  and,  if  increased,  it  may  convulse 
the  globe  ;  it  may  (by  only  adding  figures  enough  to  the  calculation) 
destroy  the  solar  system,  and  even  the  fixed  stars  themselves."  These 
reveries  generally  produce  nothing ;  for,  as  I  have  ever  observed,  in- 
creased calculations,  while  they  seem  to  tire  the  memory,  give  the 
reasoning  faculty  perfect  repose. 

However,  as  earthquakes  are  the  most  formidable  ministers  of  na- 
ture, it  is  not  to  be  wondered  that  a  multitude  of  writers  have  been 

*  Memoires  de  1' Academic  des  Sciences.  An.  1703. 


THE  EARTH.  4? 

curiously  ^nployed  in  their  consideration.  Woodward  has  ascribed 
the  cause  to  a  stoppage  of  the  waters  below  the  earth's  surface  by  some 
accident.  These  being  thus  accumulated,  and  yet  acted  upon  by  fires, 
which  he  supposes  still  deeper,  both  contribute  to  heave  up  the  earth 
uoon  their  bosom.  This,  he  thinks,  accounts  for  the  lakes  of  water 
pioduced  in  an  earthquake,  as  well  as  for  the  fires  that  sometimes 
burst  from  the  earth's  surface  upon  those  dreadful  occasions.  There 
are  others  still  who  have  supposed  that  the  earth  may  be  itse'f  the 
cause  of  its  own  convulsions.  u  When,"  say  they,  "  the  roots  or  basis 
of  some  large  tract  is  worn  away  by  a  fluid  underneath,  the  earth  sink- 
ing therein,  its  weight  occasions  a  tremor  of  the  adjacent  parts,  some- 
times producing  a  noise,  and  sometimes  an  inundation  of  water."  Not 
to  tire  the  reader  with  a  history  of  opinions  instead  of  facts,  some 
have  ascribed  them  to  electricity,  and  some  to  the  same  causes  that 
produce  thunder. 

It  would  be  tedious,  therefore,  to  give  ail  the  various  opinions  that 
have  employed  the  speculative  upon  this  subject.  The  activity  of  the 
internal  heat  seems  alone  sufficient  to  account  for  every  appearance 
that  attends  these  tremendous  irregularities  of  nature.  To  conceive 
this  distinctly,  let  us  suppose,  at  some  vast  distance  under  the  earthj 
large  quantities  of  inflammable  matter,  pyrites,  bitumens,  and  marca- 
sites,  disposed,  and  only  waiting  for  the  aspersion  of  water,  or  the 
humidity  of  the  air,  to  put  their  fires  in  motion :  at  last,  this  dreadful 
mixture  arrives ;  waters  find  their  way  into  those  depths,  through  the 
perpendicular  fissures;  or  air  insinuates  itself  through  the  same  minute 
apertures  :  instantly  new  appearances  ensue ;  those  substances,  which 
for  ages  before  lay  dormant,  now  conceive  new  apparent  qualities; 
they  grow  hot,  produce  new  air,  and  only  want  room  for  expansion. 
However,  the  narrow  apertures  by  which  the  air  or  water  had  at  first 
admission,  are  now  closed  up;  yet  as  new  air  is  continually  generated, 
and  as  the  heat  every  moment  gives  this  air  new  elasticity,  it  at  length 
bursts,  and  dilates  all  round ;  and,  in  its  struggles  to  get  free,  throws 
all  above  it  into  similar  convulsions.  Thus  an  earthquake  is  produced, 
more  or  less  extensive,  according  to  the  depth  or  the  greatness  of  the 
cause. 

But  before  we  proceed  with  the  causes,  let  us  take  a  short  view 
jf  the  appearances  which  have  attended  the  most  remarkable  earth- 
quakes. By  these  we  shall  see  how  far  the  theorist  corresponds  with 
the  historian.  The  greatest  we  find  in  antiquity  is  that  mentioned  by 
Pliny,*  in  which  twelve  cities  in  Asia  Minor  were  swallowed  up  in 
one  night:  he  tells  us  also  of  another,  near  the  lake  Thrasymene, 
which  was  not  perceived  by  the  armies  of  the  Carthaginians  and  Ro- 
mans, that  were  then  engaged  near  that  lake,  although  it  shook  the 
greatest  part  of  Italy.  Jn  another  placet  he  gives  the  following  ac-  . 
count  of  an  earthquake  of  an  extraordinary  kind.  "  When  Lucius 
Marcus  and  Sextus  Julius  were  consuls,  there  appeared  a  very  strange 
prodigy  of  the  earth,  (as  I  have  read  in  the  books  of  ./Etruscan  disci- 
pline) "which  happened  in  the  province  of  Mutina.  Two  mountains 
shocked  against  each  other,  approaching  and  retiring  with  the  most 

*  Pl'n  lib.  ii.  cap.  86.         f  Ibid.  lib.  hi.  cap.  85. 

voi.   i.  D 


1>0  A  HISTORY  OF 

dreadful  noise.  They,  at  the  same  time,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  da\ 
appeared  to  cast  forth  fire  and  smoke,  while  a  vast  number  of  Komuu 
knights  and  travellers  from  the  ^Emilian  Way,  stood  and  continued 
amazed  spectators.  Several  towns  were  destroyed  by  this  shock  ;  and 
all  the  animals  that  were  near  them  were  killed."  In  the  time  of  Tra- 
jan, the  city  of  Antioch,  and  a  great  part  of  the  adjacent  country,  \vas 
buried  by  an  earthquake.  About  three  hundred  years  after,  in  the 
times  of  Justinian,  it  was  once  more  destroyed,  together  with  forty 
thousand  inhabitants ;  and,  after  an  interval  of  sixty  years,  the  same 
ill-fated  city  was  a  third  time  overturned,  with  the  loss  of  not  less 
than  sixty  thousand  souls.  In  the  year  1182,  most  of  the  cities  of  Sy- 
ria, and  the  kingdom  of  Jerusalem,  were  destroyed  by  the  same  acci- 
dent. In  the  year  1594,  the  Italian  historians  describe  an  earthquake 
at  Puteoli,  which  caused  the  sea  to  retire  two  hundred  yards  from  its 
former  bed. 

But  one  of  those  most  particularly  described  in  history,  is  that  of  the 
year  1693;  the  damages  of  which  were  chiefly  felt  in  Sicily,  but  its 
motion  perceived  in  Germany,  France,  and  England.  It  extended  to 
a  circumference  of  two  thousand  six  hundred  leagues  ;  chiefly  affect- 
ing the  sea-coasts,  and  great  rivers ;  more  perceivable  also  upon  the 
mountains  than  in  the  valleys.  Its  motions  were  so  rapid,  that  those 
who  lay  at  their  length  were  tossed  from  side  to  side,  as  upon  a  roll- 
ing billow.*  The  walls  were  dashed  from  their  foundations  ;  and  nc 
less  than  fifty-four  cities,  with  an  incredible  number  of  villages,  were 
either  destroyed  or  greatly  damaged.  The  city  of  Catanea,  in  par- 
ticular, was  utterly  overthrown.  A  traveller,  who  was  on  his  way 
thither,  at  the  distance  of  some  miles,  perceived  a  black  cloud,  like 
iiight,  hanging  over  the  place.  The  sea,  all  of  a  sudden,  began  to 
roar ;  Mount  ./Etna  to  send  forth  great  spires  of  flame ;  and  soon  after 
a  shock  ensued,  with  a  noise  as  if  all  the  artillery  in  the  world  had 
been  at  once  discharged.  Our  traveller,  being  obliged  to  alight,  in- 
stantly felt  himself  raised  a  foot  from  the  ground ;  and  turning  his 
eyes  to  the  city,  he,  with  amazement,  saw  nothing  but  a  thick  cloud 
of  dust  in  the  air.  The  birds  flew  about  astonished;  the  sun  was 
darkened;  the  beasts  ran  howling  from  the  hills;  and,  although  the 
shock  did  not  continue  above  three  minutes,  yet  near  nineteen  thou- 
sand of  the  inhabitants  of  Sicily  perished  in  the  ruins. — Catanea,  to 
which  city  the  describer  was  travelling,  seemed  the  principal  scene 
of  ruin ;  its  place  only  was  to  be  found ;  and  not  a  footstep  of  its  for 
mer  magnificence  was  to  be  seen  remaining. 

The  earthquake  which  happened  in  Jamaica,  in  1G92,  was  very  ter- 
rible, and  its  description  sufficiently  minute.  "  In  two  minutes'  time  il 
destroyed  the  town  of  Port-Royal,  and  sunk  the  houses  in  a  gulf  for 
ty  fathoms  deep.  It  was  attended  with  a  hollow  rumbling  noise, 
like  that  of  thunder ;  and,  in  less  than  a  minute,  three  parts  of  the 
houses,  and  their  inhabitants,  were  all  sunk  quite  underwater.  Whilo 
they  were  thus  swallowed  up  on  one  side  of  the  street,  on  the  other 
the  houses  were  thrown  into  heaps;  the  sand  of  the  street  rising  lik« 
»be  waves  of  the  sea,  lifting  up  those  that  stood  upon  it,  and  immedi 

*  Phil.  Trans. 


THE  EARTH.  51 

ately  overwhelming  them  in  pits.  All  the  wells  discharged  their  w^« 
ters  with  the  most  vehement  agitation.  The  sea  felt  an  equal  shar*» 
of  turbulence,  and,  bursting  over  its  mounds,  deluged  all  that  came  in 
its  way.  The  fissures  of  the  earth  were,  in  some  places,  so  great,  that 
one  of  the  streets  appeared  twice  as  broad  as  formerly.  In  many 
places,  however,  it  opened  and  closed  again,  and  continued  this  agita- 
tion for  some  time.  Of  these  openings,  two  or  three  hundred  might 
be  seen  at  a  time ;  in  some  whereof  the  people  were  swallowed  up ; 
in  others,  the  earth  closing,  caught  them  by  the  middle,  and  thus 
crushed  them  instantly  to  death.  Other  openings,  still  more  dreadful 
than  the  rest,  swallowed  up  whole  streets ;  and  others,  more  formida- 
ble still,  spouted  up  whole  cataracts  of  water,  drowning  such  as  the 
earthquake  had  spared.  The  whole  was  attended  with  the  most 
noisome  stench;  while  the  thundering  of  the  distant  falling  mountains, 
the  whole  sky  overcast  with  a  dusky  gloom,  and  the  crash  of  falling 
habitations,  gave  unspeakable  horror  to  the  scene.  After  this  dread- 
ful calamity  was  over,  the  whole  island  seemed  converted  into  a  scene 
of  desolation;  scarce  a  planter's  house  was  left  standing;  almost  all 
were  swallowed  up  ;  houses,  people,  trees,  shared  one  universal  ruin ; 
and  in  their  places  appeared  great  pools  of  water,  which,  when  dried 
up  by  the  sun,  left  only  a  plain  of  barren  sand,  without  any  vestige 
of  former  inhabitants.  Most  of  the  rivers,  during  the  earthquake, 
were  stopt  up  by  the  falling  in  of  the  mountains;  and  it  was  not  till 
after  some  time  that  they  made  themselves  new  channels.  The  moun- 
tains seemed  particularly  attacked  by  the  force  of  the  shock;  and  it 
was  supposed  that  the  principal  seat  of  the  concussion  was  among 
them.  Those  who  were  saved  got  on  board  ships  in  the  harbour, 
where  many  remained  above  two  months ;  the  shocks  continuing, 
during  that  interval,  with  more  or  less  violence  every  day." 

As  this  description  seems  to  exhibit  all  the  appearances  that  usually 
make  up  the  catalogue  of  terrors  belonging  to  an  earthquake,  I  will 
suppress  the  detail  of  that  which  happened  at  Lisbon,  in  our  own 
times,  and  which  is  too  recent  to  require  a  description.  In  fact, 
there  are  few  particulars,  in  the  accounts  of  those  who  were  present 
at  that  scene  of  desolation,  that  we  have  not  more  minutely  and  accu- 
rately transmitted  to  us  by  former  writers,  whose  narratives  I  have 
for  that  reason  preferred.  I  will  therefore  close  this  description  of  hu- 
man calamities,  with  the  account  of  the  dreadful  earthquake  at  Cala- 
bria, in  1638.  It  is  related  by  the  celebrated  Father  Kircher,  as  it 
happened  while  he  was  on  his  journey  to  visit  Mount  ./Etna,  and  the 
rest  of  the  wonders  that  lie  towards  the  south  of  Italy.  I  need  scarce 
inform  the  reader,  that  Kircher  is  considered,  by  scholars,  as  one 
rff  the  greatest  prodigies  of  learning. 

"  Having  hired  a  boat,  in  company  with  four  more,  two  friars  of  the 
order  of  St.  Francis,  and  two  seculars,  we  launched,  on  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  March,  from  the  harbour  of  Messina,  in  Sicily,  and  arrived 
the  same  day  at  the  promontory  of  Pelorus.  Our  destination  was  for 
me  city  of  Euphsemia,  in  Calabria,  where  we  had  some  business  to 
transact,  and  where  we  designed  to  tarry  for  some  time.  However, 
Providence  seemed  willing  to  cross  our  design ;  for  we  were  obliged 
*o  continue  for  three  days  at  Pelorus,  upon  account  of  the  weather ; 


*2  A  HISTORY  OF 

and  t\ough  we  often  put  out  to  sea,  yet  we  were  as  often  driven  back 
At  length,  however,  wearied  with  the  delay,  we  resolved  to  prosecute 
our  voyage  ;  and,  although  the  sea  seemed  more  than  usually  agitated, 
yet  we  ventured  forward.  The  gulf  of  Charybdis,  which  we  ap 
proached,  seemed  whirled  round  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  form  a  vast 
hollow,  verging  to  a  point  in  the  centre.  Proceeding  onward,  and 
turning  my  eyes  to  J£tna,  I  saw  it  cast  forth  large  volumes  of  smoke, 
of  mountainous  sizes,  which  entirely  covered  the  whole  island,  and  blot- 
ted out  the  very  shores  from  my  view.  This,  together  with  the  dread- 
ful noise,  and  the  sulphureous  stench,  which  was  strongly  perceived,  fill- 
ed me  with  apprehensions  that  some  more  dreadful  calamity  was  im- 
pending. The  sea  itself  seemed  to  wear  a  very  unusual  appearance  j 
those  who  have  seen  a  lake  in  a  violent  shower  of  rain  covered  ah 
over  with  bubbles,  will  conceive  some  idea  of  its  agitations.  My  sur- 
prise was  still  increased  by  the  calmness  and  serenity  of  the  weather  ; 
not  a  breeze,  not  a  cloud,  which  might  be  supposed  to  put  all  nature 
thus  into  motion.  I  therefore  warned  my  companions  that  an  earth- 
quake was  approaching ;  and,  after  some  time,  making  for  the  shore 
with  all  possible  diligence,  we  landed  at  Tropaia,  happy  and  thankful 
for  having  escaped  the  threatening  dangers  of  the  sea. 

"  But  our  triumphs  at  land  were  of  short  duration  ;  for  we  had 
scarce  arrived  at  the  Jesuits'  College  in  that  city,  when  our  ears  were 
stunned  with  a  horrid  sound,  resembling  that  of  an  infinite  number 
of  chariots  driven  fiercely  forward,  the  wheels  rattling,  and  the  thongs 
cracking.  Soon  after  this,  a  most  dreadful  earthquake  ensued,  so  that 
the  whole  tract  upon  which  we  stood  seemed  to  vibrate,  as  if  we  were 
in  the  scale  of  a  balance  that  continued  wavering.  This  motion,  how- 
ever, soon  grew  more  violent ;  and  being  no  longer  able  to  keep  my 
legs,  I  was  thrown  prostrate  upon  the  ground.  In  the  mean  time,  the 
universal  ruin  round  me  redoubled  my  amazement.  The  crash  of  fall- 
ing houses,  the  tottering  of  towers,  and  the  groans  of  the  dying,  all 
contributed  to  raise  my  terror  and  despair.  On  every  side  of  me  I 
saw  nothing  but  a  scene  of  ruin,  and  danger  threatening  wherever  I 
should  fly.  I  commended  myself  to  God,  as  my  last  great  refuge.  At 
that  hour,  O  how  vain  was  every  sublunary  happiness  !  wealth,  honour, 
empire,  wisdom,  all  mere  useless  sounds,  and  as  empty  as  the  bubbles 
in  the  deep.  Just  standing  on  the  threshold  of  eternity,  nothing  but 
God  was  my  pleasure  ;  and  the  nearer  I  approached,  I  only  loved  him 
the  more. — After  some  time,  however,  finding  that  I  remained  unhurt 
amidst  the  general  concussion,  I  resolved  to  venture  for  safety,  and 
running  as  fast  as  I  could,  reached  the  shore,  but  almost  terrified  out 
of  my  reason.  I  did  notsearch  long  here  till  I  found  the  boat  in  which 
I  had  landed,  and  my  companions  also,  whose  terrors  were  even 
greater  than  mine.  Our  meeting  was  not  of  that  kind  where  every 
one  is  desirous  of  telling  his  own  happy  escape ;  it  was  all  silence, 
and  a  gloomy  dread  of  impending  terrors. 

"  Leaving  this  seat  of  desolation,  we  prosecuted  our  voyage  along 
the  coast ;  and  the  next  day  came  to  Rochetta,  where  we  landed,  al- 
though the  earth  still  continued  in  violent  agitations.  But  we  were 
scarce  arrived  at  our  inn,  when  we  were  once  more  obliged  to  return 
to  the  boat,  and  in  about  half  an  hour  we  saw  the  greatest  nart  of  tho 


THE  EARTH.  t>3 

town,  and  the  inn  at  which  we  had  set  up,  dashed  to  the  ground,  and 
burying  all  its  inhabitants  beneath  its  ruins. 

"  In  this  manner,  proceeding  onward  in  our  little  vessel,  finding 
no  safety  at  land,  and  yet,  from  the  smallness  of  our  boat,  having  but 
a  very  dangerous  continuance  at  sea,  we  at  length  landed  at  Lopizi- 
um,  a  castle  midway  between  Tropasa  and  Euphaemia,  the  city  to 
which,  as  I  said  before,  we  were  bound.  Here,  wherever  I  turned 
my  eyes,  nothing  but  scenes  of  ruin  and  horror  appeared ;  towns 
and  castles  levelled  to  the  ground  ;  Strombalo,  though  at  sixty  miles 
distance,  belching  forth  flames  in  an  unusual  manner,  and  with  a  noise 
which  I  could  distinctly  hear.  But  my  attention  was  quickly  turned 
from  more  remote  to  contiguous  danger.  The  rumbling  sound  of  an 
approaching  earthquake,  which  we  by  this  time  were  grown  acquaint- 
ed with,  alarmed  us  for  the  consequences ;  it  every  moment  seemed 
to  grow  louder,  and  to  approach  more  near.  The  place  on  which  we 
stood  now  began  to  shake  most  dreadfully,  so  that  being  unable  to 
stand,  my  companions  and  I  caught  hold  of  whatever  shrub  grew  next 
us,  and  supported  ourselves  in  that  manner. 

"  After  some  time,  this  violent  paroxysm  ceasing,  we  again  stood 
up,  in  order  to  prosecute  our  voyage  to  Euphaemia,  that  lay  within 
sight.  In  the  mean  time,  while  we  were  preparing  for  this  purpose, 
I  turned  my  eyes  towards  the  city,  but  could  see  only  a  frightful  dark 
cloud  that  seemed  to  rest  upon  the  place.  This  the  more  surprised 
us,  as  the  weather  was  so  very  serene.  We  waited,  therefore,  till  the 
cloud  was  past  away  ;  then  turning  to  look  for  the  city,  it  was  totally 
sunk.  Wonderful  to  tell  !  nothing  but  a  dismal  and  putrid  lake  was 
seen  where  it  stood.  We  looked  about  to  find  some  one  that  could 
tell  us  of  its  sad  catastrophe,  but  could  see  none  !  All  was  become  a 
melancholy  solitude  !  a  scene  of  hideous  desolation  !  Thus  proceed- 
ing pensively  along,  in  quest  of  some  human  being  that  could  give  us 
some  little  information,  we  at  length  saw  a  boy  sitting  by  the  shore,  and 
appearing  stupified  with  terror.  Of  him,  therefore,  we  inquired  con- 
cerning the  fate  of  the  city,  but  he  could  not  be  induced  to  give  us 
an  answer.  We  intreated  him  with  every  expression  of  tenderness 
and  pity  to  tell  us :  but  his  senses  were  quite  wrapt  up  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  danger  he  had  escaped.  We  offered  him  some  victuals, 
but  he  seemed  to  loathe  the  sight.  We  still  persisted  in  our  offices 
of  kindness ;  but  he  only  pointed  to  the  place  of  the  city,  like  one 
out  of  his  senses ;  and  then  running  up  into  the  woods,  was  never 
heard  of  after.  Such  was  the  fate  of  the  city  of  Euphaemia !  and  as 
we  continued  our  melancholy  course  along  the  shore,  the  whole  coast, 
for  the  space  of  two  hundred  miles,  presented  nothing  but  the  remains 
of  cities,  and  men  scattered,  without  a  habitation,  over  the  fields. 
Proceeding  thus  along,  we  at  length  ended  our  distressful  voyage  by 
arriving  at  Naples,  after  having  escaped  a  thousand  dangers  both  at 
sea  and  land." 

The  reader,  I  hope,  will  excuse  me  for  this  long  translation  from  a 
favourite  writer,  and  that  the  sooner,  as  it  contains  some  particulars 
relative  to  earthquakes  not  to  be  found  elsewhere.  From  the  whole 
«»f  these  accounts  we  may  gather,  that  the  most  concomitant  circuiD' 
stances  are  these  : 


54  A  HISTORY  OF 

A  jumbling  sound  before  the  earthquake.  This  proceeds  from  the 
air  or  fire>  or  both,  forcing  their  way  through  the  chasms  of  the  earth, 
and  endeavouring  to  get  free,  which  is  also  heard  in  volcanoes. 

A  violent  agitation  or  heaving  of  the  sea,  sometimes  before  and 
sometimes  after  that  at  land.  This  agitation  is  only  a  similar  effect 
produced  on  the  waters  with  that  at  land,  and  may  be  called,  for  the 
sake  of  perspicuity,  a  seaquake  ;  and  this  also  is  produced  by  volca- 
noes. 

A  spouting  up  of  waters  to  great  heights.  It  is  not  easy  to  describe 
the  manner  in  which  this  is  performed  ;  but  volcanoes  also  perform 
the  same  :  Vesuvius  being  known  frequently  to  eject  a  vast  body 
of  water. 

A  rocking  of  the  earth  to  and  fro,  and  sometimes  a  perpendicular 
bouncing,  if  it  may  be  so  called,  of  the  same.  This  difference  chiefly 
arises  from  the  situation  of  the  place  with  respect  to  the  subterranean 
fire.  Directly  under,  it  lifts  ;  at  a  farther  distance,  it  rocks. 

Some  earthquakes  seem  to  travel  onward,  and  are  felt  in  different 
countries  at  different  hours  the  same  day.  This  arises  from  the  great 
shock  being  given  to  the  earth  at  one  place,  and  that,  being  commu- 
nicated onward  by  an  undulatory  motion,  successively  affects  different 
regions  in  its  progress.  As  the  blow  given  by  a  stone  falling  in  a 
lake,  is  not  perceived  at  the  shores  till  some  time  after  the  first  con- 
cussion. 

The  shock  is  sometimes  instantaneous,  like  the  explosion  of  gun- 
powder ;  and  sometimes  tremulous,  and  continuing  for  several  minutes. 
The  nearer  the  place  where  the  shock  is  first  given,  the  more  instan- 
taneous  and  simple  it  appears.  At  a  greater  distance,  the  earth  re- 
doubles the  first  blow  with  a  sort  of  vibratory  continuation. 

As  waters  have  generally  so  great  a  share  in  producing  earthquakes, 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  that  they  should  generally  follow  those  breach- 
es made  by  the  force  of  fire,  and  appear  in  the  great  chasms  which  the 
earthquake  has  opened. 

These  are  some  of  the  most  remarkable  phenomena  of  earthquakes, 
presenting  a  frightful  assemblage  of  the  most  terrible  effects  of  air, 
earth,  fire,  and  water. 

The  valley  of  Solfatara,  near  Naples,  seems  to  exhibit,  in  a  minuter 
degree,  whatever  is  seen  of  this  horrible  kind  on  the  great  theatre 
of  nature.  This  plain,  which  is  about  twelve  hundred  feet  long,  and 
a  thousand  broad,  is  embosomed  in  mountains,  and  has  in  the  middle 
of  it  a  lake  of  noisome  blackish  water,  covered  with  a  bitumen,  that 
floats  upon  its  surface.  In  every  part  of  this  plain,  caverns  appear 
smoking  with  sulphur,  and  often  emitting  flames.  The  earth,  wherever 
we  walk  over  it,  trembles  beneath  the  feet.  Noises  of  flames,  and  the 
hissing  of  waters,  are  heard  at  the  bottom.  The  water  sometimes 
spouts  up  eight  or  ten  feet  high.  The  most  noisome  fumes,  fetid 
water,  and  sulphureous  vapours,  offend  the  smell.  A  stone  thrown 
into  any  of  the  caverns,  is  ejected  again  with  considerable  violence. 
These  appearances  generally  prevail  when  the  sea  is  any  way  dis 
lurbed  ;  and  the  whole  seems  to  exhibit  the  appearance  of  an  earth- 
quake in  miniature.  However,  in  this  smaller  scene  of  wonders,  a* 
well  as  in  the  greater,  there  aie  many  appearances  for  which,  perhaps 


THE  EARTH.  55 

we  shall  never  account;  and  many  questions  may  be  asked,  which 
no  conjectures  can  thoroughly  resolve.  It  was  the  fault  of  the  phi- 
losophers of  the  last  age,  to  be  more  inquisitive  after  the  causes 
of  things  than  after  the  things  themselves.  They  seemed  to  tlunk 
that  a  confession  of  ignorance  cancelled  their  claims  to  wisdom  ;  they, 
therefore,  had  a  solution  for  every  demand.  But  the  present  age  has 
grown,  if  not  more  inquisitive,  at  least  more  modest;  and  none  am 
now  ashamed  of  that  ignorance,  which  labour  can  neither  remedy  nor 


CHAPTER  XL 

OF  THE  APPEARANCE  OP  NEW  ISLANDS  AND  TRACTS  ;    AND  OP  THE 
DISAPPEARANCE  OF  OTHERS. 

HITHERTO  we  have  taken  a  survey  only  of  the  evils  which  are  pro 
duced  by  subterranean  fires,  but  we  have  mentioned  nothing  of  th« 
benefits  they  may  possibly  produce.  They  may  be  of  use  in  warm- 
ing and  cherishing  the  ground,  in  promoting  vegetation,  and  giving  a 
more  exquisite  flavour  to  the  productions  of  the  earth.  The  imagina- 
tion of  a  person  who  has  never  been  out  of  our  own  mild  region,  can 
scarcely  reach  to  that  luxuriant  beauty  with  which  all  nature  appears 
clothed  in  those  very  countries  that  we  have  just  now  described  as 
desolated  by  earthquakes,  and  undermined  by  subterranean  fires.  It 
must  be  granted,  therefore,  that  though  in  those  regions  they  have  a 
greater  share  in  the  dangers,  they  have  also  a  larger  proportion  in  the 
benefits  of  nature. 

But  there  is  another  advantage  arising  from  subterranean  fires, 
which,  though  hitherto  disregarded  by  man,  yet  may  one  day  become 
serviceable  to  him  ;  I  mean,  that  while  they  are  found  to  swallow  up 
cities  and  plains  in  one  place,  they  are  also  known  to  produce  promon- 
tories and  islands  in  another.  VVe  have  many  instances  of  islands  be- 
ing thus  formed  in  the  midst  of  the  sea,  which  though  for  a  long  time 
barren,  have  afterwards  become  fruitful  seats  of  happiness  and  in- 
dustry. 

New  islands  are  formed  in  two  ways ;  either  suddenly,  by  the  ac- 
tion of  subterranean  fires  ;  or  more  slowly,  by  the  deposition  of  mud, 
carried  down  by  rivers,  and  stopped  by  some  accident.*  With  re- 
spect particularly  to  the  first,  ancient  historians,  and  modern  travellers, 
give  us  such  accounts  as  we  can  have  no  room  to  doubt  of.  Seneca  as- 
sures us,  that  in  his  time  the  island  of  Therasia  appeared  unexpected- 
ly to  some  mariners,  as  they  were  employed  in  another  pursuit.  Pliny 
assures  us,  that  thirteen  islands  in  the  Mediterranean  appeared  at  onca 
emerging  from  the  water ;  the  cause  of  which  he  ascribes  rather  to 
the  retiring  of  the  sea  in  those  parts,  than  to  any  subterraneous  eleva- 
tion. However,  he  mentions  the  island  of  Hiera,  near  that  of  Thera- 
sia. as  formed  by  subterraneous  explosions  ;  and  adds  to  his  list  several 
others  formed  in  the  same  manner.  In  one  of  which  he  relates  that 

*  BufFon.  »ol.  ii.  p.  347. 


56  A  HISTORY  OF 

fish  *n  great  abundance  were  found,  and  that  all  those  who  eat  of  t  Vr* 
died  shortly  after. 

"On  the  twenty-fourth  of  May,*  in  the  year  1707,  a  slight  earth- 
quake was  perceived  at  Santorin  ;  and  the  day  following,  at  sun-rising,' 
an  object  was  seen  by  the  inhabitants  of  that  island,  at  two  or  three 
miles  distance  at  sea,  which  appeared  like  a  floating  rock.  Some  per- 
sons, desirous  either  of  gain,  or  incited  by  curiosity,  went  there,  and 
found,  even  while  they  stood  upon  this  rock,  that  it  seemed  to  rise 
beneath  their  feet.  They  perceived  also,  that  its  surface  was  covered 
with  pumice-stones  and  oysters,  which  it  had  raised  from  the  bottom. 
Every  day  after,  until  the  fourteenth  of  June,  this  rock  seemed  con- 
siderably to  increase ;  and  then  \vas  found  to  be  half  a  mile  round, 
and  about  thirty  feet  above  the  sea.  The  earth  of  which  it  was  com- 
posed seemed  whitish,  with  a  small  proportion  of  clay.  Soon  after 
this  the  sea  again  appeared  troubled,  and  steams  arose  which  were 
very  offensive  to  the  inhabitants  of  Santorin.  But  on  the  sixteenth 
of  the  succeeding  month,  seventeen  or  eighteen  rocks  more  were  seen 
to  rise  out  of  the  sea,  and  at  length  to  join  together.  All  this  was 
accompanied  with  the  most  terrible  noise,  and  fires  that  proceeded 
from  the  island  that  was  newly  formed.  The  whole  mass,  however, 
of  all  this  new  formed  earth,  uniting,  increased  every  day,  both  in 
height  and  breadth,  and,  by  the  force  of  its  explosions,  cast  forth 
rocks  to  seven  miles  distance.  This  continued  to  bear  the  same  dread- 
ful appearances  till  the  month  of  November  in  the  same  year  ;  and  it 
is  at  present  a  valcano  which  sometimes  renews  its  explosions.  It  is 
about  three  miles  in  circumference ;  and  more  than  from  thirty-five 
to  forty  feet  high." 

It  seems  extraordinary,  that  about  this  place  in  particular,  islands 
have  appeared  at  different  times,  particularly  that  of  Hiera,  mentioned 
above,  which  has  received  considerable  additions  in  succeeding  ages. 
Justin  tells  us,t  that  at  the  time  the  Macedonians  were  at  war  with 
the  Romans,  a  new  island  appeared  between  those  of  Theramenes 
and  Therasia,  by  means  of  an  earthquake.  We  are  told  that  this  be- 
came half  as  large  again  about  a  thousand  years  after,  another  island 
rising  up  by  its  side,  and  joining  to  it,  so  as  scarce  at  present  to  be 
distinguished  from  the  former. 

A  new  island  was  formed,  in  the  year  1720,  near  that  of  Tercera, 
near  the  continent  of  Africa,  by  the  same  causes.  In  the  beginning 
of  December,  at  night,  there  was  a  terrible  earthquake  at  that  place, 
and  the  top  of  a  new  island  appeared,  which  cast  forth  smoke  in  vast 
quantities.  The  pilot  of  a  ship,  who  approached  it,  sounded  on  "ne 
side  of  this  island,  and  could  not  find  ground  at  sixty  fathom:  at  the 
other  side  the  sea  was  totally  tinged  of  a  different  colour,  exhibit- 
ing a  mixture  of  white,  blue,  and  green ;  and  was  very  shallow 
This  island,  on  its  first  appearance,  was  larger  than  it  is  at  present  • 
for  it  has  since  that  time  sunk  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  be  scarcely  above 
water. 

A  traveller,  whom  these  appearances  could  not  avoid  affecting, 
apeaks  of  them  in  this  manner  :|  "  What  can  be  more  surprising  than 

•  Hist.  -Icl  Acad  an.  1708,  p.  23.  f  Justin,  lib.  xxx.  cap.  4   f  Phil,  ^rai  s.  voJ   »  p.  l'J7. 


THE  EARTH.  57 

lo  see  fire  not  only  break  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  fcarth,  but  also 
make  itself  a  passage  through  the  waters  of  the  sea !  What  can  be 
more  extraordinary,  or  foreign  to  our  common  notions  of  things, 
than  to  see  the  bottom  of  the  sea  rise  up  into  a  mountain  above 
the  water,  and  become  so  firm  an  island  as  to  be  able  to  resist  thts 
violence  of  the  greatest  storms  !  I  know  that  subterraneous  fires, 
when  pent  in  a  narrow  passage,  are  able  to  raise  up  a  mass  of  earth  as 
large  as  an  island :  but  that  this  should  be  done  in  so  regular  and  ex- 
act a  manner  that  the  water  of  the  sea  should  not  be  able  to  pene- 
trate and  extinguish  those  fires  ;  that  after  having  made  so  many  pas- 
sages, they  should  retain  force  enough  to  raise  the  earth  ;  and,  in  fine, 
after  having  been  extinguished,  that  the  mass  of  earth  should  not  fall 
down,  or  sink  again  with  its  own  weight,  but  still  remain  in  a  manner 
suspended  over  the  great  arch  below  !  This  is  what  to  me  seems  more 
surprising  than  any  thing  that  has  been  related  of  Mount  JEtna,  Vesu- 
vius, or  any  other  volcano." 

Such  are  his  sentiments ;  however,  there  are  few  of  these  appear- 
ances any  way  more  extraordinary  than  those  attending  volcanoes  and 
earthquakes  in  general.  We  are  not  more  to  be  surprised  that  inflam- 
mable substances  should  be  found  beneath  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  than  at 
similar  depths  at  land.  These  have  all  the  force  of  fire  giving  ex- 
pansion to  air,  and  tending  to  raise  the  earth  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  till  it  at  length  heaves  above  water.  These  marine  volcanoes  are 
not  so  frequent ;  for,  if  we  may  judge  of  the  usual  procedure  of  nature- 
it  must  very  often  happen,  that,  before  the  bottom  of  the  sea  is  ele- 
vated above  the  surface,  a  chasm  is  opened  in  it,  and  then  the  water 
pressing  in,  extinguishes  the  volcano  before  it  has  time  to  produce  its 
effects.  This  extinction,  however,  is  not  effected  without  very  great 
resistance  from  the  fire  beneath.  The  water,  upon  dashing  into  the 
cavern,  is  very  probably  at  first  ejected  back  with  great  violence  ;  and 
thus  some  of  those  amazing  water-spouts  are  seen,  which  have  so  often 
astonished  the  mariner,  and  excited  curiosity.  But  of  these  in  their 
place. 

Besides  the  production  of  those  islands  by  the  action  of  fire,  there 
are  others,  as  was  said,  produced  by  rivers  or  seas  carrying  mud, 
earth,  and  such  like  substances,  along  with  their  currents;  and  at  last 
depositing  them  in  some  particular  place.  At  the  mouths  of  most 
great  rivers,  there  are  to  be  seen  banks,  thus  formed  by  the  sand  and 
mud  carried  down  with  the  stream,  which  have  rested  at  that  place*, 
where  the  force  of  the  current  is  diminished  by  its  junction  with  tin; 
soa.  These  banks,  by  slow  degrees,  increase  at  the  bottom  of  the 
deep:  the  water  in  those  places,  is  at  first  found  by  mariners  to  grow 
more  shallow ;  the  bank  soon  heaves  up  above  the  surface ;  it  is  con- 
tfklered,  for  a  while,  as  a  tract  of  useless  and  barren  sand :  but  the 
seeds  of  some  of  the  more  hardy  vegetables  are  driven  thither  by  the 
wind,  take  root,  and  thus  binding  the  sandy  surface,  the  whole  spot 
»s  clothed  in  time  with  a  beautiful  verdure.  In  this  manner  there  are 
delightful  and  inhabited  islands  at  the  mouths  of  many  rivers,  particu- 
larly the  Nile,  the  Po,  the  Mississippi,  the  Ganges,  and  the  Senegal. 
There  has  been,  in  the  memory  of  man,  a  beautiful  and  large  island 
formed  in  this  manner,  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Nanquin,  in  China 


58  THE  HISTORY  OF 

made  fiom  depositions  of  mud  at  its  opening  :  it  is  not  less  than  sixty 
miles  long,  and  about  twenty  broad.  La  Loubeie  informs  us,*  in  his 
voyage  to  Siam,  that  these  sand-banks  increase  every  day,  at  the 
mouths  of  all  the  great  rivers  in  Asia :  and  hence,  he  asserts,  that  the 
navigation  up  these  rivers  becomes  every  day  more  difficult,  and  will, 
at  one  time  or  other,  be  totally  obstructed.  The  same  may  be  re- 
marked with  regard  to  the  Wolga,  which  has  at  present  seventy  open- 
ings into  the  Caspian  sea ;  and  of  the  Danube,  which  has  seven  into 
the  Euxine.  We  have  had  an  instance  of  the  formation  of  a  new 
island  not  very  long  since  at  the  mouth  of  the  Humber,  in  England. 
"It  is  yet  within  the  memory  of  man,"  says  the  relator,t  "since  it 
began  to  raise  its  head  above  the  ocean.  It  began  its  appearance  at 
low  water,  for  the  space  of  a  few  hours,  and  was  buried  again  till  the 
next  tide's  retreat.  Thus  successively  it  lived  and  died,  until  the  year 
1666,  when  it  began  to  maintain  its  ground  against  the  insult  of  the 
waves,  and  first  invited  the  aid  of  human  industry.  A  bank  was 
thrown  about  its  rising  grounds,  and  being  thus  defended  from  the  in- 
cursions of  the  sea,  it  became  firm  and  solid,  and,  in  a  short  time, 
afforded  good  pasturage  for  cattle.  It  is  about  nine  miles  in  circum- 
ference, and  is  worth  to  the  proprietor  about  eight  hundred  pounds 
a  year."  It  would  be  endless  to  mention  all  the  islands  that  have 
been  thus  formed,  and  the  advantages  that  have  been  derived  from 
them.  However,  it  is  frequently  found,  that  new  islands  may  be  often 
considered  as  only  turning  the  rivers  from  their  former  beds  ;  so  that 
in  proportion  as  land  is  gained  at  one  part,  it  is  lost  by  the  overflow- 
ing of  some  other. 

Little,  therefore,  is  gained  by  such  accessions  ;  nor  is  there  much 
more  by  the  new  islands  which  are  sometimes  formed  from  the  spoils 
of  the  continent.  Mariners  assure  us,  that  there  are  sometimes  whole 
plains  unrooted  from  the  main  lands,  by  floods  and  tempests.  These 
being  carried  out  to  sea,  with  all  the  trees  and  animals  upon  them, 
are  frequently  seen  floating  in  the  ocean,  and  exhibiting  a  surprising 
appearance  of  rural  tranquillity  in  the  midst  of  danger.  The  great- 
est part,  however,  having  the  earth  at  their  roots  at  length  washed 
away,  are  dispersed,  and  their  animals  drowned  ;  but  now  and  then 
some  are  found  to  brave  the  fury  of  the  ocean,  till  being  struck  either 
among  rocks  or  sands,  they  again  take  firm  footing,  and  become  per- 
manent islands. 

As  different  causes  have  thus  concurred  to  produce  new  islands,  so 
we  kave  accounts  of  others  that  the  same  causes  have  contributed  to 
destroy.  We  have  already  seen  the  power  of  earthquakes  exerted  in 
Milking  whole  cities,  and  leaving  lakes  in  their  room.  There  have 
been  islands,  and  regions  also,  that  have  shared  the  same  fate;  and 
have  sunk  with  their  inhabitants  never  more  to  be  heard  of.  Thus 
Pausanias|  tells  us  of  an  island,  called  Chryses,  that  was  sunk  near 
Lemnos.  Pliny  mentions  several;  among  others,  the  island  Cea,  for 
thirty  miles,  having  been  washed  away,  with  several  thousands  of  its  in- 
babitants.  But  of  all  the  noted  devastations  of  this  kind,  the  total 

•  Tettrcs  Curicuses  et  Edifiantes,  sec.  xi.  p.  234.  f  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  iv.  p.  2^1 

t  Tausanias,  1.  8.  in  A  read.  p.  500. 


THE  EARTH.  59 

submersion  ->f  the  island  of  Atalantis,  as  mentioned  by  Plato,  has  bouo 
most  the  subject  of  speculation.  Mankind,  in  general,  now  consider 
the  whole  of  his  description  as  an  ingenious  fable  ;  but  when  fables 
are  grown  famous  by  time  and  authority,  they  become  an  agreeable, 
if  not  a  necessary  part  of  literary  information. 

"  About  nine  thousand  years  are  passed,"  says  Plato,*  "  since  the 
island  of  Atalantis  was  in  being.  The  priests  of  Egypt  were  well  ac- 
quainted with  it:  and  the  first  heroes  of  Athens  gained  much  glory  in 
their  wars  with  the  inhabitants.  This  island  was  as  large  as  Asia  Mi- 
nor and  Syria  united  ;  and  was  situated  beyond  the  Pillars  of  Hercu- 
les, in  the  Atlantic  ocean.  The  beauty  of  the  buildings,  and  the  fer- 
tility of  the  soil,  were  far  beyond  any  thing  a  modern  imagination  can 
conceive  ;  gold  and  ivory  were  every  where  common  ;  and  the  fruits 
of  the  earth  offered  themselves  without  cultivation.  The  arts  and 
courage  of  the  inhabitants  were  not  inferior  to  the  happiness  of  their 
situation  ;  and  they  were  frequently  known  to  make  conquests,  and 
overrun  the  continents  of  Europe  and  Asia."  The  imagination  of  the 
poetical  philosopher  riots  in  the  description  of  the  natural  and  acquired 
advantages,  which  they  long  enjoyed  in  this  charming  region.  "  If," 
says  he,  "  we  compare  that  country  to  our  own,  ours  will  appear  a 
mere  wasted  skeleton,  when  opposed  to  it.  The  mountains  to  the 
very  tops  were  clothed  with  fertility,  and  poured  down  rivers  to  enrich 
the  plains  below." 

However,  all  these  beauties  and  benefits  were  destroyed  in  one  day 
by  an  earthquake  sinking  the  earth,  and  the  sea  overwhelming  it.  At 
present  not  the  smallest  vestiges  of  such  an  island  are  to  be  found  ; 
Plato  remains  as  the  only  authority  for  its  existence:  and  philosopheis 
dispute  about  its  situation.  It  is  not  for  me  to  enter  into  the  contro- 
versy, when  there  appears  but  little  probability  to  support  the  fact ; 
and,  indeed,  it  would  be  useless  to  run  back  nine  thousand  years  in 
•earch  of  difficulties,  as  we  are  surrounded  with  objects  that  more 
closely  affect  us,  and  that  demand  admiration  at  our  very  doors. 
When  I  consider,  as  Lactantius  suggests,  the  various  vicissitudes  of  na 
ture  ;  lands  swallowed  by  yawning  earthquakes,  or  overwhelmed  in 
the  deep  ;  rivers  and  lakes  disappearing,  or  dried  away  ;  mountains 
levelled  into  plains;  and  plains  swelling  up  into  mountains;  I  cannot 
help  regarding  this  earth  as  a  place  of  very  little  stability ;  as  a  tran 
sient  abode  of  still  more  transitory  beings 


CHAPTER   XII. 

OF  MOUNTAINS. 

HAVING  at  last,  in  some  measure,  emerged  from  the  deeps  of  the 
earth,  we  come  to  a  scene  of  greater  splendour  ;  the  contemplation 
of  its  external  appearance.  In  this  survey,  its  mountains  arc  the  first 
objects  that  strike  the  imagination,  and  excite  our  curiosity.  There 
is  not,  perhaps,  anv  thing  in  all  nature  that  impresses  an  unpcc:i«tem«d 

»  Plato  in  Critia. 


*0  A  HISTORY  OF 

spectator  with  such  ideas  of  awful  solemnity,  as  these  immense  pil«M» 
of  Nature's  erecting,  that  seem  to  mock  the  minuteness  of  human 
magnificence. 

In  countries  where  there  are  nothing  but  plains,  the  smallest  eleva- 
tions are  apt  to  excite  wonder.  In  Holland,  which  is  all  a  flat,  they 
show  a  little  ridge  of  hills,  near  the  sea-side,  which  Boerhaave  generally 
marked  out  to  his  pupils,  as  being  mountains  of  no  small  considera- 
tion. What  would  be  the  sensations  of  such  an  auditory,  could  they 
at  once  be  presented  with  a  view  of  the  heights  and  precipices  of  the 
Alps  or  the  Andes  !  Even  among  us  in  England,  we  have  no  ade- 
quate ideas  of  a  mountain-prospect ;  our  hills  are  generally  sloping 
from  the  plain,  and  clothed  to  the  very  top  with  verdure ;  we  can 
scarce,  therefore,  lift  our  imaginations  to  those  immense  piles,  whose 
tops  peep  up  behind  intervening  clouds,  sharp  and  precipitate,  and 
reach  to  heights  that  human  avarice  or  curiosity  have  never  been  able 
to  ascend. 

We,  in  this  part  of  the  world,  are  not,  for  that  reason,  so  imme- 
diately interested  in  the  question  which  has  so  long  been  agitated 
among  philosophers,  concerning  what  gave  rise  to  these  inequalities 
on  the  surface  of  the  globe.  In  our  own  happy  region,  we  generally 
see  no  inequalities  but  such  as  contribute  to  use  and  beauty  ;  and  we, 
therefore,  are  amazed  at  a  question,  inquiring  how  such  necessary  in- 
equalities came  to  be  formed,  and  seeming  to  express  a  wonder  how 
the  globe  comes  to  be  so  beautiful  as  we  find  it.  But  though  with  us 
there  may  be  no  great  cause  for  such  a  demand,  yet  in  those  places 
where  mountains  deform  the  face  of  nature,  where  they  pour  down 
cataracts,  or  give  fury  to  tempests,  there  seems  to  be  good  reason  for 
inquiry  either  into  their  causes  or  their  uses.  It  has  been,  therefore, 
asked  by  many,  in  what  manner  mountains  have  come  to  be  formed  ; 
or  for  what  uses  they  are  designed  ? 

To  satisfy  curiosity  in  these  respects,  much  reasoning  has  been  em- 
ployed, and  very  little  knowledge  propagated.  With  regard  to  the 
first  part  of  the  demand,  the  manner  in  which  mountains  were  formed, 
we  have  already  seen  the  conjectures  of  different  philosophers  on  that 
dead.  One  supposing  that  they  were  formed  from  the  earth's  broken 
shell  at  the  time  of  the  deluge ;  another,  that  they  existed  from  the 
creation,  and  only  acquired  their  deformities  in  process  of  time ;  a 
third,  that  they  owed  their  original  to  earthquakes  ;  and  still  a  fourth, 
with  much  more  plausibility  than  the  rest,  ascribing  them  entire- 
ly to  the  fluctuations  of  the  deep,  which  he  supposes  in  the  beginning 
to  have  covered  the  whole  earth.  Such  as  are  plensed  with  disquisi- 
tions of  this  kind,  may  consult  Burnett,  Whiston,  Woodward,  or  Buf- 
fon.  Nor  would  I  be  thought  to  decry  any  mental  amusements,  that 
at  worst  keep  us  innocently  employed  ;  but  for  my  own  part,  I  cannot 
help  wondering  how  the  opposite  demand  has  never  come  to  be  made  ; 
and  why  philosophers  have  never  asked  how  we  come  to  have  plains  ? 
Plains  are  sometimes  more  prejudicial  to  man  than  mountains.  Upon 
plains,  an  inundation  has  greater  power  ;  the  beams  of  the  sun  are 
often  collected  there  with  suffocating  fierceness  ;  they  are  sometimes 
found  desert  for  several  hundred  miles  together,  as  in  the  country  east 
of  the  Caspian  sea,  although  otherwise  fruitful,  merely  because  therr, 


THE  EARTH.  61 

are  no  risings  nor  depressions  to  form  reservoirs,  or  collect  the  small- 
est rivulet  of  water.  The  most  rational  answer,  therefore,  why  eithei 
mountains  or  plains  were  formed,  seems  to  be  that  they  were  thus 
fashioned  by  the  hand  of  Wisdom,  in  order  that  pain  and  pleasure  should 
be  so  contiguous,  as  that  mortality  might  be  exercised  either  in  bear- 
ing the  one,  or  communicating  the  other. 

Indeed,  the  more  I  consider  this  dispute  respecting  the  formation 
of  mountains,  the  more  I  am  struck  with  the  futility  of  the  question. 
There  is  neither  a  straight  line  nor  an  exact  superficies,  in  all  nature. 
If  we  consider  a  circle,  even  with  mathematical  precision,  we  shall 
find  it  formed  of  a  number  of  small  right  lines,  joining  at  angles  to- 
gether. These  angles,  therefore,  may  be  considered  in  a  circle  as 
mountains  are  upon  our  globe ;  and  to  demand  the  reason  for  the  one 
being  mountainous,  or  the  other  angular,  is  only  to  ask,  why  a  circle 
is  a  circle,  or  a  globe  is  a  globe.  In  short,  if  there  be  no  surface 
without  inequality  in  nature,  why  should  we  be  surprised  that  the 
earth  has  such  ?  It  has  often  been  said,  that  the  inequalities  of  its 
surface  are  scarce  distinguishable,  if  compared  to  its  magnitude  ;  and 
I  think  we  have  every  reason  to  be  content  with  the  answer. 

Some,  however,  have  avoided  the  difficulty  by  urging  the  final  cause. 
They  allege  that  mountains  have  been  formed  merely  because  they 
are  useful  to  man.  This  carries  the  inquirer  but  a  part  of  the  way ; 
for  no  one  can  affirm,  that  in  all  places  they  are  useful.  The  contrary 
is  known,  by  horrid  experience,  in  those  valleys  that  are  subject  to 
their  influence.  However,  as  the  utility  of  any  part  of  our  earthly 
habitation  is  a  very  pleasing  and  flattering  speculation  to  every  phi- 
losopher, it  is  not  to  be  wondered  that  much  has  been  said  to  prove  the 
usefulness  of  these.  For  this  purpose,  many  conjectures  have  been 
made,  that  have  received  a  degree  of  assent  even  beyond  their  evi- 
dence ;  for  men  were  unwilling  to  become  more  miserably  wise. 

It  has  been  alleged,  a§  one  principal  advantage  that  we  derive  from 
them,  that  they  serve  like  hoops  or  ribs,  to  strengthen  our  earth,  and  to 
bind  it  together.  In  consequence  of  this  theory,  Kircher  has  given 
us  a  map  of  the  earth,  in  this  manner  hooped  with  its  mountains ;  which 
might  have  a  much  more  solid  foundation,  did  it  entirely  correspond 
with  truth. 

Others  have  found  a  different  use  for  them,  especially  when  they 
run  surrounding  our  globe  ;  which  is,  that  they  stop  the  vapours  which 
are  continually  travelling  from  the  equator  to  the  poles  ;  for  these  be- 
ing urged  by  the  heat  of  the  sun,  from  the  warm  regions  of  the  line, 
must  all  be  accumulated  at  the  poles,  if  they  were  not  stopped  in  their 
way  by  those  high  ridges  of  mountains  which  cross  their  direction. 
But  an  answer  to  this  may  be,  that  all  the  great  mountains  in  Ameri- 
ca lie  lengthwise,  and  therefore  do  not  cross  their  direction. 

But  to  leave  these  remote  advantages,  others  assert,  that  not  only  the 
animal  but  vegetable  part  of  the  creation  would  perish  for  want  of  con- 
venient humidity,  were  it  not  for  their  friendly  assistance.  Their  sum- 
mits are,  by  these,  supposed  to  arrest,  as  it  were,  the  vapours  which 
float  in  the  regions  of  the  air.  Their  large  inflections  and  channels 
are  considered  as  so  many  basins  prepared  for  the  reception  '  f  those 
thick  vapours,  and  impetuous  rains,  which  descend  ;nto  them.  T5i« 


62  A  HISTORY  OF 

huge  caverns  beneath  are  so  many  magazines  or  conservatories  of  wa- 
ter for  the  peculiar  service  of  man  ;  and  those  orifices  by  which  the 
water  is  discharged  upon  the  plain,  are  so  situated  as  to  enrich  and 
render  them  fruitful,  instead  of  returning  through  subterraneous  chan- 
nels to  the  sea,  after  the  performance  of  a  tedious  and  fruitless  circu- 
lation.* 

However  this  be,  certain  it  is,  that  almost  all  our  great  rivers  tinrl 
.  their  source  among  mountains ;  and,  in  general,  the  more  extensive 
the  mountain,  the  greater  the  river :  thus  the  river  Amazons,  the 
greatest  in  the  world,  has  its  source  among  the  Andes,  which  are  the 
highest  mountains  on  the  globe  ;  the  river  Niger  travels  a  long  course 
of  several  hundred  miles  from  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  the  high- 
est in  all  Africa ;  and  the  Danube  and  the  Rhine  proceed  from  the 
Alps,  which  are  probably  the  highest  mountains  of  Europe. 

It  need  scarce  be  said,  that,  with  respect  to  height,  there  arc 
many  sixes  of  mountains,  from  the  gentle  rising  upland,  to  the  tall 
craggy  precipice.  The  appearance  is  in  general  different  in  those 
of  different  magnitudes.  The  first  are  clothed  with  verdure  to  the 
very  tops,  and  only  seem  to  ascend  to  improve  our  prospects,  or  sup- 
ply us  with  a  purer  air :  but  the  lofty  mountains  of  the  other  class 
have  a  very  different  aspect.  At  a  distance  their  tops  are  sec'ti,  in 
wavy  ridges,  of  the  very  colour  of  the  clouds,  and  only  to  be  distin- 
guished from  them  by  their  figure  ;  which,  as  I  have  said,  resemble  the 
billows  of  the  sea.t  As  we  approach,  the  mountain  assumes  a  decpei 
colour :  it  gathers  upon  the  sky,  and  seems  to  hide  half  the  horizon 
behind.  Its  summits  also  are  become  more  distinct,  and  appear  with  a 
broken  and  perpendicular  line.  What  at  first  seemed  a  single  hill,  is  now 
found  to  be  a  chain  of  continued  mountains,  whose  tops  running  aloug 
in  ridges,  are  embosomed  in  each  other ;  so  that  the  curvatures  of  one 
are  fitted  to  the  prominences  of  the  opposite  side,  and  form  a  winding 
valley  between,  often  of  several  miles  in  extent ;  and  all  the  way  con- 
tinuing nearly  of  the  same  breadth. 

Nothing  can  be  finer,  or  more  exact,  than  Mr.  Pope's  description 
of  a  traveller  straining  up  the  Alps.  Every  mountain  he  comes  to 
he  thinks  will  be  the  last;  he  finds,  however,  an  unexpected  hill  rise 
before  him  ;  and  that  being  scaled,  he  finds  the  highest  summit  almost 
at  as  great  a  distance  as  before.  Upon  quitting  the  plain,  he  might 
have  left  a  green  and  fertile  soil,  and  a  climate  warm  and  pleasing. 
As  he  ascends,  the  ground  assumes  a  more  russet  colour;  the  grass 
becomes  more  mossy,  and  the  weather  more  moderate.  Still  as  he 
ascends,  the  weather  becomes  more  cold,  and  the  earth  more  barren, 
In  this  dreary  passage  he  is  often  entertained  with  a  little  valley  of  sur- 
prising verdure,  caused  by  the  reflected  heat  of  the  sun  collected  into 
a  narrow  spot  on  the  surrounding  heights.  But  it  much  more  fre- 
quently happens  that  he  sees  only  frightful  precipices  beneath,  and  lakes 
of  amazing  depths,  from  whence  rivers  are  formed,  and  fountains  derhe 
their  original.  On  those  places  next  the  highest  summits,  vegetation 
is  scarcely  carried  on ;  here  and  there  a  few  plants  of  the  most  hardy 
kind  appear.  The  air  is  intolerably  cold ;  either  continually  refrige- 

•  Nature  Displayed,  vol.  iii.  p.  88.  f  Lettres  Philosophiqiies  sur  la  Fotmafio:i,&c.  n.  196 


THE  EARTH.          .  63 

rated  with  frosts,  or  disturbed  with  tempests.  All  the  ground  hero. 
wears  an  eternal  covering  of  ice,  and  snows  that  seem  constantly  ac- 
cumulating. Upon  emerging  from  this  war  of  the  elements,  he  ascends 
into  a  purer  and  serener  region,  where  vegetation  is  entirely  ceased  ; 
where  the  precipices,  composed  entirely  of  rocks,  rise  perpendicular- 
ly above  him  ;  while  he  views  beneath  him  all  the  combat  of  the  ele- 
ments; clouds  at  his  feet,  and  thunders  darting  upwards  from  their 
bosoms  below.*  A  thousand  meteors,  which  are  never  seen  on  the 
plain,  present  themselves.  Circular  rainbows  ^  mock  suns  ;  the  shadow 
of  the  mountain  projected  upon  the  body  of  the  air;t  and  the  travel- 
ler's own  image,  reflected  as  in  a  looking-glass,  upon  the  opposite 


Such  are,  in  general,  the  wonders  that  present  themselves  to  a 
traveller  in  his  journey  either  over  the  Alps  or  the  Andes.  But  we 
must  not  suppose  that  this  picture  exhibits  either  a  constant  or  an  in- 
variable likeness  of  those  stupendous  heights.  Indeed,  nothing  can 
be  more  capricious  or  irregular  than  the  forms  of  many  of  them. 
The  tops  of  some  run  in  ridges  for  a  considerable  length,  without  in- 
terruption ;  in  others,  the  line  seems  indented  by  great  valleys  to  an 
amazing  depth.  Sometimes  a  solitary  and  a  single  mountain  rises 
from  the  bosom  of  the  plain;  and  sometimes  extensive  plains,  and 
even  provinces,  as  those  of  Savoy  and  Quito,  are  found  embosomed 
near  the  tops  of  mountains.  In  general,  however,  those  countries 
that  are  most  mountainous,  are  the  most  barrenand  uninhabitable. 

If  we  compare  the  heights  of  mountains  with  each  other,  we  shall  find 
that  the  greatest  and  highest  are  found  under  the  line.||  It  is  thought 
by  some,  that  the  rapidity  of  the  earth's  motion  in  these  parts,  to- 
gether with  the  greatness  of  the  tides  there,  may  have  thrown  up  those 
stupendous  masses  of  earth.  But,  be  the  cause  as  it  may,  it  is  a  re- 
markable fact,  that  the  inequalities  of  the  earth's  surface  are  greatest 
there.  Near  the  poles,  the  earth,  indeed,  is  craggy  and  uneven  enough  ; 
out  the  heights  of  the  mountains  there,  are  very  inconsiderable.  On 
the  contrary,  at  the  equator,  where  nature  seems  to  sport  in  the 
amazing  size  of  all  her  productions,  the  plains  are  extensive,  and  the 
mountains  remarkably  lofty.  Some  of  them  are  known  to  rise  three 
aiiles  perpendicular  above  the  bed  of  the  ocean. 

To  enumerate  the  most  remarkable  of  these,  according  to  their  size, 
vr,  shall  begin  with  the  Andes,  of  which  we  have  an  excellent  descrip- 
tion hv  Ulloa,  who  went  thither  by  command  of  the  king  of  Spain, 
<n  company  with  the  French  Academicians,  to  measure  a  degree  of  the 
mr.ruiian.  His  journey  up  these  mountains  is  too  curious  not  to  give 
an  extract  from  it. 

After  many  incommodious  days,  sailing  up  the  river  Guayquil,he  ar 
rived  at  Caracol,  a  town  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  Andes.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  inconveniences  which  he  experienced  in  his  voyage, 
from  the  flies  and  moschitoes  (an  animal  resembling  our  gnat.)  "  We 
were  the  whole  day,"  says  he,  "  in  continual  motion  to  keep  them  ofT; 
but  at  night  our  torments  were  excessive.  Our  gloves,  indeed,  were 
some  defence  to  our  hands  ;  but  our  faces  were  entirely  exposed  ;  nor 

•  Ulloa,  vol.  i.    f  ibid-     I  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  v.  p.  152.    {  Ulloa,  vol.  i.     ||  Buflbn,  fassun 


64  A  HISTORY  OF 

were  our  clothes  a  sufficient  defence  for  the  rest  of  our  bodies ;  foi 
their  stings  penetrating  through  the  cloth,  caused  a  very  painful  and 
fiery  itching.  One  night,  in  coming  to  an  anchor  near  a  large  and 
handsome  house  that  was  uninhabited,  we  had  no  sooner  seated  our- 
selves in  it,  than  we  were  attacked  on  all  sides  by  swarms  of  moschi- 
toes,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  have  one  moment's  quiet.  Those 
who  had  covered  themselves  with  clothes  made  for  this  purpose, 
found  not  the  smallest  defence ;  wherefore,  hoping  to  find  some  re- 
lief in  the  open  fields,  they  ventured  out,  though  in  danger  of  suffer- 
ing in  a  more  terrible  manner  from  the  serpents.  But  both  places 
were  equally  obnoxious.  On  quitting  this  inhospitable  retreat,  we  the 
next  night  took  up  our  quarters  in  a  house  that  was  inhabited;  the 
host  of  which  being  informed  of  the  terrible  manner  we  had  past  the 
night  before,  he  gravely  told  us,  that  the  house  we  so  greatly  com- 
plained of,  had  been  forsaken  on  account  of  its  being  the  purgatory 
of  a  soul.  But  we  had  more  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  quitted  on 
account  of  its  being  the  purgatory  of  the  body.  After  having  jour- 
neyed for  upwards  of  three  days,  through  boggy  roads,  in  which  the 
mules  at  every  step  sunk  up  to  their  bellies,  we  began  at  length  to 
perceive  an  alteration  in  the  climate ;  and  having  been  long  accus- 
tomed to  heat,  we  now  began  to  feel  it  grow  sensibly  colder. 

"  It  is  remarkable,  that  at  Tariguagua  we  often  see  instances  of  the 
effects  of  two  opposite  temperatures,  in  two  persons  happening  to 
meet ;  one  of  them  leaving  the  plains  below,  and  the  other  descend- 
ing from  the  mountain.  The  former  thinks  the  cold  so  severe,  that 
he  wraps  himself  up  in  all  the  garments  he  can  procure ;  while  the 
latter  finds  the  heat  so  great,  that  he  is  scarce  able  to  bear  any  clothes 
whatsoever.  The  one  thinks  the  water  so  cold,  that  he  avoids  being 
sprinkled  by  it ;  the  other  is  so  delighted  with  its  warmth,  that  he 
uses  it  as  a  bath.  Nor  is  the  case  very  different  in  the  same  person, 
who  experiences  the  same  diversity  of  sensation  upon  his  journey  up, 
and  upon  his  return.  This  difference  only  proceeds  from  the  change 
naturally  felt  at  leaving  a  climate  to  which  one  has  been  accustomed, 
and  coming  into  another  of  an  opposite  temperature. 

"  The  ruggedness  of  the  road  from  Tariguagua,  leading  up  the 
mountain,  is  not  easily  described.  In  some  parts,  the  declivity  is  so 
Croat,  that  the  mules  can  scarce  keep  their  footing;  and  in  others, 
t'ho  acclivity  is  equally  difficult.  The  trouble  of  having  people  going 
before  to  mend  the  road,  the  pains  arising  from  the  many  falls  and 
bruises,  and  the  being  constantly  wet  to  the  skin,  might  be  supported, 
wore  not  these  inconveniences  augmented  by  the  sight  of  such  fright- 
ful precipices,  and  deep  abysses,  as  must  fill  the  mind  with  ceaseless 
terror.  There  are  some  places  where  the  road  is  so  steep,  and  yet 
so  narrow,  that  the  mules  are  obliged  to  slide  down,  without  making 
any  use  of  their  feet  whatsoever.  On  one  side  of  the  rider,  in  this 
situation,  rises  an  eminence  of  several  hundred  yards  ;  and  on  the 
other,  an  abyss  of  equal  depth  ;  so  that  if  he  in  the  least  checks  his 
mule,  so  as  to  destroy  the  equilibrium,  they  both  must  unavoidably 
perish. 

"  After  .laving  travelled  about  nine  days  in  this  manner,  slowly 
winding  along  the  side  of  the  mountain,  we  began  to  find  the  whole 


THE  EARTH.  65 

country  covered  with  a  hoar  frost :  and  a  hut,  in  which  we  lay,  nad 
ice  on  it.  Having  escaped  many  perils,  we  at  length,  after  a  journey 
of  fifteen  days,  arrived  upon  the  plain,  on  the  extremity  of  which 
stands  the  city  of  Quito,  the  capital  of  one  of  the  most  charming  re- 
gions upon  earth.  Here,  in  the  centre  of  the  torrid  zone,  the  heat  is 
not  only  very  tolerable,  but  in  some  places  the  cold  also  is  painful. 
Here  they  enjoy  all  the  temperature  and  advantages  of  perpetual 
?i>ring ;  their  fields  being  always  covered  with  verdure,  and  enamel- 
led with  flowers  of  the  most  lively  colours.  However,  although  this 
beautiful  region  be  higher  than  any  other  country  in  the  world,  and 
although  it  took  up  so  many  days  of  painful  journey  in  the  as- 
cent, it  is  still  overlooked  by  tremendous  mountains  ;  their  sides  cover- 
ed with  snow,  and  yet  flaming  with  volcanoes  at  the  top.  These 
seemed  piled  one  "ipon  the  other,  and  rise  to  a  most  astonishing, 
height,  with  great  cujdness.  However,  at  a  determined  point  above 
the  surface  of  the  sea,  the  congelation  is  found  at  the  same  height  in 
all  the  mountains.  Those  parts  which  are  not  subject  to  a  continual 
frost,  have  here  and  there  growing  upon  them  a  rush,  resembling  the 
genista,  but  much  more  soft  and  flexible,  Towards  the  extremity 
of  the  part  where  the  rush  grows,  and  the  cold  begins  to  increase,  is 
found  a  vegetable,  with  a  round  bulbous  head,  which,  when  dried,  be- 
comes of  amazing  elasticity.  Higher  up.  the  earth  is  entirely  bare 
of  vegetation,  and  seems  covered  with  eternal  snow.  The  most  re- 
markable mountains  are,  that  of  Cotopaxi  (already  described  as  a  vol- 
cano,) Chimborazo,  and  Pichincha.  Cotopaxi  is  more  than  three 
geographical  miles  above  the  surface  of  the  sea  :  the  rest  are  not 
much  inferior.  On  the  top  of  the  latter  was  my  station  for  measuring 
a  degree  of  the  meridian  ;  where  I  suffered  particular  hardships,  from 
the  intenseness  of  the  cold,  and  the  violence  of  the  storms.  The  sky 
around  was,  in  general,  involved  in  thick  fogs,  which,  when  they  clear- 
ed away,  and  the  clouds,  by  their  gravity,  moved  nearer  to  the  surface 
of  the  earth,  they  appeared  surrounding  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  at 
a  vast  distance  below,  like  a  sea,  encompassing  an  island  in  the  midst 
of  it.  When  this  happened,  the  horrid  noises  of  tempests  were  heard 
from  beneath,  then  discharging  themselves  on  Quito,  and  the  neigh- 
bouring country.  I  saw  the  lightnings  issue  from  the  clouds,  and  heard 
the  thunders  roll  far  beneath  me.  All  this  time,  while  the  tempest 
was  raging  below,  the  mountain  top,  where  I  was  placed,  enjoyed  a 
delightful  serenity  ;  the  wind  was  abated  ;  the  sky  clear ;  and  the  en- 
livening rays  of  the  sun  moderated  the  severity  of  the  cold.  How- 
ever, this  was  of  no  very  long  duration,  for  the  wind  returned  with  all 
its  violence,  and  with  such  velocity  as  to  dazzle  the  sight ;  whilst  my 
fears  were  increased  by  the  dreadful  concussions  of  the  precipice,  and 
the  fall  of  enormous  rocks ;  the  only  sounds  that  were  heard  in  this 
frightful  situation." 

Such  is  the  animated  picture  of  these  mountains,  as  given  us  by 
this  ingenious  Spaniard  :  and  I  believe  the  reader  will  wish  that  I  had 
made  The  quotation  still  longer.  A  passage  over  the  Alps,  or  a  jour- 
ney across  the  Pyrennees,  appear  petty  trips  or  excursions  in  the  con>- 
|>a*ison;  and  yet  these  are  the  most  lofty  mountains  we  know  of  in 
Europe. 

VOL.  f.  K 


cV>  A  HISTORY  OF 

If  wo  '-umpire  the  Alps  with  the  mountains  already  described,  wo 
shall  find  them  but  little  more  than  one  half  of  the  height  of  the  for- 
mer. The  Andes,  upon  being  measured  by  the  barometer,  are  found 
•••ibove  three  thousand  one  hundred  and  thirty-six  toises  or  fathoms 
above  the  surface  of  the  sea.*  Whereas  the  highest  points  of  the 
Alps  is  not  above  sixteen  hundred.  The  one,  in  other  words,  is  above 
three  miles  high  ;  the  other  about  a  mile  and  a  half.  The  highest 
mountains  in  Asia  are,  Mount  Taurus,  Mount  Immaus,  Mount  Cauca- 
sus, and  the  mountains  of  Japan.  Of  these,  none  equals  the  Andes  in 
height :  although  Mount  Caucasus,  which  is  the  highest  of  them, 
makes  very  near  approaches.  Father  Verbiest  tells  of  a  mountain 
in  China,  which  he  measured,  and  found  a  mile  and  a  half  high.t  In 
Africa,  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  famous  for  giving  source  to  the 
Niger  and  the  Nile,  are  rather  more  noted  than  known.  Of  the  Peak 
of  Teneriffe,  one  of  the  Canary  Islands  that  lie  off  this  coast,  we 
have  more  certain  information.  In  the  year  1727 ,  it  was  visited  by 
a  company  of  English  merchants,  who  travelled  up  to  the  top,  where 
they  observed  its  height,  and  the  volcano  on  its  very  summit.^  They 
found  it  a  heap  of  mountains,  the  highest  of  which  rises  over  the  rest 
like  a  sugar-loaf,  and  gives  a  name  to  the  whole  mass.  It  is  com- 
puted to  be  a  mile  and  a  half  perpendicular  from  the  surface  of  the 
sea.  Kircher  gives  us  an  estimate  of  the  heights  of  most  of  the  other 
great  mountains  i"n  the  world  ;  but  as  he  has  taken  his  calculations  in 
general  from  the  ancients,  or  from  modern  travellers,  who  had  not  the 
art  of  measuring  them,  they  are  quite  incredible.  The  art  of  taking 
the  heights  of  places  by  the  barometer,  is  a  new  and  an  ingenious  in- 
vention. As  the  air  grows  lighter  as  we  ascend,  the  fluid  in  the  tube 
rises  in  due  proportion:  thus  the  instrument  being  properly  marked, 
gives  the  height  with  a  tolerable  degree  of  exactness  ;  at  least  enough 
to  satisfy  curiosity. 

Few  of  our  great  mountains  have  been  estimated  in  this  manner ; 
travellers  having,  perhaps,  been  deterred,  by  a  supposed  impossibility 
of  breathing  at  the  top.  However,  it  has  been  invariably  found,  that 
the  air  in  the  Highest  that  our  modern  travellers  have  ascended,  is  not 
at  all  too  fine  for  respiration.  At  the  top  of  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe. 
there  was  found  no  other  inconvenience  from  the  air,  except  its  cold- 
ness ;  at  the  top  of  the  Andes,  there  was  no  difficulty  of  breathing 
perceived.  The  accounts,  therefore,  of  those  who  have  asserted  that 
they  were  unable  to  breathe,  although  at  much  less  heights,  are  groat 
ly  to  be  suspected.  In  fact,  it  is  very  natural  for  mankind  to  paint 
those  obstacles  as  insurmountable,  which  they  themselves  have  not  had 
the  fortitude  or  perseverance  to  surmount. 

The  difficulty  and  danger  of  ascending  to  the  tops  of  mountains, 
proceeds  from  other  causes,  not  the  thinness  of  the  air.  For  instance, 
some  of  the  summits  of  the  Alps  have  never  yet  been  visited  by  man. 
But  the  reason  is,  that  they  rise  with  such  a  rugged  and  precipitate 
ascent,  that  they  are  utterly  inaccessible.  In  some  places  they  appear 
like  a  great  wall  of  six  or  seven  hundred  feet  high  ;  in  others,  there 
•lick  out  enormous  rocks,  that  hang  upon  the  brow  of  the  steep,  and 
«very  moment  threaten  destruction  to  the  traveller  below. 

«  Ulloa,  vo.. ..  p.  442          f  Verbiest,  alia  Chine.        J  P-.il.  Trans.  voL  ?. 


THE  EARTH.  6? 

In  this  manner  almost  all  the  tops  of  the  highest  mountains  are  bar0 
and  pointed.  And  this  naturally  proceeds  from  their  being  so  continu- 
ally assaulted  by  thunder  and  tempests.  All  the  earthy  substances 
with  which  they  might  have  been  once  covered,  have  for  ages  been 
washed  away  from  their  summits ;  and  nothing  is  left  remaining  but 
immense  rocks,  which  no  tempest  has  hitherto  been  able  to  destroy. 

Nevertheless,  time  is  every  day,  and  every  hour,  making  depreda- 
tions ;  and  huge  fragments  are  seen  tumbling  down  the  precipice, 
either  loosened  from  the  summit  by  frost  or  rains,  or  struck  down  by 
lightning.  Nothing  can  exhibit  a  more  terrible  picture  than  one 
of  these  enormous  rocks,  commonly  larger  than  a  house,  falling  from 
its  height,  with  a  noise  louder  than  thunder,  and  rolling  down  the  side 
of  the  mountain.  Doctor  Plot  tells  us  of  one  in  particular,  which  be- 
ing loosened  from  its  bed,  tumbled  down  the  precipice,  and  was  part- 
ly shattered  into  a  thousand  pieces.  Notwithstanding,  one  of  the  larg- 
est fragments  of  the  same,  still  preserving  its  motion,  travelled  over  the 
plain  below,  crossed  a  rivulet  in  the  midst,  and  at  last  stopped  on  the 
other  side  of  the  bank  !  These  fragments,  as  was  said,  are  often  struck 
off  by  lightning,  and  sometimes  undermined  by  rains ;  but  the  most 
usual  manner  in  which  they  are  disunited  from  the  mountain,  is  by 
frost :  the  rains  insinuating  between  the  interstices  of  the  mountain, 
continue  there  until  there  comes  a  frost,  and  then,  when  converted 
into  ice,  the  water  swells  with  an  irresistible  force,  and  produces  the 
same  effect  as  gunpowder,  splitting  the  most  solid  rocks,  and  thus 
shattering  the  summits  of  the  mountain. 

But  not  rocks  alone,  but  whole  mountains  are,  by  various  causes, 
disunited  from  each  other.  We  see  in  many  parts  of  the  Alps,  amaz- 
ing clefts,  the  sides  of  which  so  exactly  correspond  with  the  opposite, 
that  no  doubt  can  be  made  of  their  having  been  once  joined  together. 
At  Cajeta,*  in  Italy,  a  mountain  was  split  in  this  manner  by  an  earth- 
quake ;  and  there  is  a  passage  opened  through  it,  that  appears  as 
if  elaborately  done  by  the  industry  of  man.  In  the  Andes  these 
breaches  are  frequently  seen.  That  at  Thermopylae,  in  Greece,  has 
been  long  famous.  The  mountain  of  the  Troglodytes,  in  Arabia,  has 
thus  a  passage  through  it :  and  that  in  Savoy,  which  Nature  began, 
and  which  Victor  Amadeus  completed,  is  an  instance  of  the  same  kind. 

We  have  accounts  of  some  of  these  disruptions,  immediately  after 
their  happening.  "  In  the  month  of  June,t  in  the  year  1714,  a  part 
of  the  mountain  of  Diableret,  in  the  district  of  Valais,  in  France,  sud- 
denly fell  down,  between  two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the 
weather  being  very  calm  and  serene.  It  was  of  a  conical  figure,  and 
destroyed  fifty-five  cottages  in  the  fall.  Fifteen  persons,  together 
with  about  a  hundred  beasts,  were  also  crushed  beneath  its  ruins,  which 
covered  an  extent  of  a  good  league  square.  The  dust  it  occasioned 
/nstantly  covered  all  the  neighbourhood  in  darkness.  The  heaps 
of  rubbish  were  more  than  three  hundred  feet  high.  They  stopped 
ihc  current  of  a  river  that  ran  along  the  plain,  which  now  is  formed 
into  several  new  and  deep  lakes.  There  appeared  through  the  whole 
of  tnis  rubbish,  none  of  those  substances  that  seemed  to  indicate  that 

*  Buffoii.  vol.  ii.  p  364  A  Hist,  de  1'Academie  des  Scien-s,  p.  1.  an.  1711 


C&  A  HISTORY  OF 

this  disruption  had  been  made  by  means  of  subterraneous  fires.  Most 
probably,  the  base  of  this  rocky  mountain  was  rotted  and  decayed  ; 
and  thus  fell,  without  any  extraneous  violence."  In  the  same  man 
ner,  in  the  year  l6l8,  the  town  of  Pleurs,  in  France,  was  buried  be- 
neath a  rocky  mountain,  at  the  foot  of  which  it  was  situated. 

These  accidents,  and  many  more  that  might  be  enumerated  of  the 
same  kind,  have  been  produced  by  various  causes :  by  earthquakes, 
as  in  the  mountain  at  Cajeta;  or  by  being  decayed  at  the  bottom,  as 
at  Diableret.  But  the  most  general  way  is,  by  the  foundation  of  one 
part  of  the  mountain  being  hollowed  by  waters,  and  thas  wanting  a 
support,  breaking  from  the  other.  Thus  it  generally  has  been  found 
in  the  great  chasms  in  the  Alps;  and  thus  it  almost  always  is  known 
in  those  disruptions  of  hills,  which  are  known  by  the  name  of  land- 
slips. These  are  nothing  more  than  the  slidings  down  of  a  higher 
piece  of  ground,  disrooted  from  its  situation  by  subterraneous  inunda- 
tions, and  settling  itself  upon  the  plain  below. 

There  is  not  an  appearance  in  all  nature  that  so  much  astonished 
our  ancestors,  as  these  land-slips.  In  fact,  to  behold  a  large  upland, 
with  its  houses,  its  corn,  and  cattle,  at  once  loosened  from  its  place, 
and  floating,  as  it  were,  upon  the  subjacent  water  ;  to  behold  it  quit- 
ting its  ancient  situation,  and  travelling  forward  like  a  ship  in  ques/ 
'of  new  adventures  ;  this  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
appearances  that  can  be  imagined  ;  and  to  a  people,  ignorant  of  the 
powers  of  nature,  might  well  be  considered  as  a  prodigy.  According- 
ly, we  find  all  our  old  historians  mentioning  it  as  an  omen  of  ap- 
proaching calamities.  In  this  more  enlightened  age,  however,  its 
cause  is  very  well  known  ;  and,  instead  of  exciting  ominous  appre- 
hensions in  the  populace,  it  only  gives  rise  to  some  very  ridiculous 
law-suits  among  them,  about  whose  the  property  shall  be  ;  whether 
the  land  which  has  thus  slipt,  shall  belong  to  the  original  possessor, 
or  to  him  upon  whose  grounds  it  has  encroached  and  settled.  What 
has  been  the  determination  of  the  judges,  is  not  so  well  known,  but  the 
circumstances  of  the  slips  have  been  minutely  and  exactly  described. 

In  the  lands  of  Slatberg,*  in  the  kingdom  of  Iceland,  there  stood  a 
declivity,  gradually  ascending  for  near  half  a  mile.  In  the  year  1713, 
and  on  the  10th  of  March,  the  inhabitants  perceived  a  crack  on  its 
side,  somewhat  like  a  furrow  made  with  a  plough,  which  they  imputed 
to  the  effects  of  lightning,  as  there  had  been  thunder  the  night  be- 
fore. However,  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  they  were  surprised 
to  hear  a  hideous  confused  noise  issuing  all  round  from  the  side  of  the 
hill ;  and  their  curiosity  being  raised,  they  resorted  to  the  place. 
There,  to  their  amazement,  they  found  the  earth,  for  near  five  acres, 
all  in  gentle  motion,  and  sliding  down  the  hill  upon  the  subjacent 
plain.  This  motion  continued  the  remaining  part  of  the  day,  and  the 
whole  night ;  nor  did  the  noise  cease  during  the  whole  time ;  pro- 
ceeding, probably,  from  the  attrition  of  the  ground  beneath.  The 
day  following,  however,  this  strange  journey  down  the  hill  ceased  en- 
tirely ;  and  above  an  acre  of  the  meadow  below  was  found  covered 
with  what  before  composed  a  part  of  the  declivity. 

»  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  iv.  p.  250. 


THE  EARTH.  69 

HOWCVM,  these  slips,  when  a  whole  mountain's  side  seems  to  de 
scend,  happen  but  very  rarely.  There  are  some  of  another  kind, 
however,  much  more  common  ;  and,  as  they  are  always  sudden,  much 
more  dangerous.  These  are  snow-slips,  well  known,  and  greatly 
dreaded  by  travellers.  It  often  happens,  that  when  snow  has  long 
been  accumulated  on  the  tops  and  on  the  sides  of  mountains,  it  is 
borne  down  the  precipice,  either  by  means  of  tempests,  or  its  own 
melting.  At  first,  when  loosened,  the  volume  in  motion  is  but  small ; 
but  gathers  as  it  continues  to  roll ;  and,  by  the  time  it  has  reached 
the  habitable  parts  of  the  mountain,  is  generally  grown  of  enormous 
bulk  Wherever  it  rolls,  it  levels  all  things  in  its  way  ;  or  buries  them 
in  unavoidable  destruction.  Instead  of  rolling,  it  sometimes  is  found 
to  slide  along  from  the  top  ;  yet  even  thus  it  is  generally  as  fatal  as 
before.  Nevertheless,  we  have  had  an  instance,  a  few  years  ago,  of  a 
small  family  in  Germany,  that  lived  for  above  a  fortnight  beneath  one 
of  these  snow-slips.  Although  they  were  .buried  during  that  whole 
time,  in  utter  darkness,  and  under  a  bed  of  some  hundred  feet  deep, 
yet  they  were  luckily  taken  out  alive  ;  the  weight  of  the  snow  being 
supported  by  a  beam  that  kept  up  the  roof;  and  nourishment  being 
supplied  them  by  the  milk  of  an  ass,  if  I  remember  right,  that  was 
buried  under  the  same  ruin. 

But  it  is  not  the  parts  alone  that  are  thus  found  to  subside,  whole 
mountains  have  been  known  totally  to  disappear.  Pliny  tells  us,* 
that  in  his  own  time,  the  lofty  mountain  of  Cybotus,  together  with  the 
city  of  Eurites,  were  swallowed  by  an  earthquake.  The  same  fate, 
he  says,  attended  Phlegium,  one  of  the  highest  mountains  in  Ethiopia; 
which,  after  one  night's  concussion,  was  never  seen  more.  In  more 
modern  times,  a  very  noted  mountain  in  the  Molucca  islands,  known 
by  the  name  of  the  Peak,  and  remarkable  for  being  seen  at  a  very  great 
distance  from  sea,  was  swallowed  by  an  earthquake  ;  and  nothing  but 
a  lake  was  left  in  the  place  where  it  stood.  Thus,  while  storms  and 
tempests  are  levelled  against  mountains  above,  earthquakes  and  waters 
are  undermining  them  below.  All  our  histories  talk  of  their  destruc- 
tion ;  and  a  very  few  new  ones  (if  we  except  Mount  Cenere,  and  one 
or  two  such  heaps  of  cinders)  are  produced.  If  mountains,  therefore, 
were  of  such  great  utility  as  some  philosophers  make  them  to  man- 
kind, it  would  be  a  very  melancholy  consideration  that  such  benefits 
were  diminishing  every  day.  But  the  truth  is,  the  valleys  are  fer 
tilized  by  that  earth  which  is  washed  from  their  sides  ;  and  the  plains 
become  richer,  in  proportion  as  the  mountains  decay. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

OP  WATER. 

IN  contemplating  nature,  we  shall  often  find  the  same  substances 
possessed  of  contrary  qualities,  and  producing  opposite  effects.  Aii, 
which  liquifies  <me  substance,  dries  up  another.  That  fire  whiclj  i* 

»  Plin.  1.  ii.  cap.  93. 


TO  A  HISTORY  OF 

seen  ti;  iwiA  up  the  desert,  is  often  found,  in  other  places,  to  assisi 
the  uxuriance  of  vegetation ;  and  water,  which,  next  to  fire,  is  the 
most  fluid  substance  upon  earth,  nevertheless,  gives  all  other  hodiea 
their  firmness  and  durability ;  so  that  every  element  seems  to  be  a 
powerful  servant,  capable  either  of  good  or  ill,  and  only  awaiting  ex- 
ternal direction,  to  become  the  friend  or  the  enemy  of  mankind.  These 
opposite  qualities,  in  this  substance  in  particular,  have  not  failed  to 
excite  the  admiration  and  inquiry  of  the  curious. 

That  water  is  the  most  fluid  penetrating  body,  next  to  fire,  and  the 
most  difficult  to  confine,  is  incontestibly  proved  by  a  variety  of  experi- 
ments. A  vessel  through  which  water  cannot  pass,  may  be  said  to 
retain  any  thing.  It  may  be  objected  indeed,  that  syrups,  oils,  and 
honey,  leak  through  some  vessels  that  water  cannot  pass  through ; 
but  this  is  far  from  being  the  result  of  the  greater  tenuity  and  fine- 
ness of  their  parts  ;  it  is  owing  to  the  rosin  wherewith  the  wood  of  such 
vessels  abounds,  which  oils  and  syrups  have  a  power  of  dissolving ; 
so  that  these  fluids,  instead  of  finding  their  way,  may  more  properly 
be  said  to  eat  their  way  through  the  vessels  that  contain  them.  How- 
ever, water  will  at  last  find  its  way  even  through  these  ;  for  it  is 
known  to  escape  through  vessels  of  every  substance,  glass  only  ex- 
cepted.  Other  bodies  may  be  found  to  make  their  way  out  more 
readily  indeed ;  as  air,  when  it  finds  a  vent,  will  escape  at  once ;  and 
quicksilver,  because  of  its  weight,  quickly  penetrates  through  what- 
ever chiuky  vessel  confines  it:  but  water,  though  it  operates  more 
slowly,  yet  always  finds  a  more  certain  issue.  As,  for  instance,  it  is 
well  known  that  air  will  not  pass  through  leather  ;  which  water  will 
very  readily  penetrate.  Air  also  may  be  retained  in  a  bladder;  bul 
water  will  quickly  ooze  through.  And  those  who  drive  this  to  the 
greatest  degree  of  precision,  pretend  to  say,  that  it  will  pass  through 
pores  ten  times  smaller  than  air  can  do.  Be  this  as  it  may,  we  are  very 
certain  that  its  parts  are  so  small  that  they  have  been  actually  driven 
through  the  pores  of  gold.  This  has  been  proved  by  the  famous 
Florentine  experiment,  in  which  a  quantity  of  water  was  shut  up  in 
a  hollow  ball  of  gold,  and  then  pressed  with  a  huge  force  by  screws, 
during  which  the  fluid  was  seen  to  ooze  out  through  the  pores  of  the 
metal,  and  to  stand,  like  a  dew,  upon  its  surface. 

As  water  is  thus  penetrating,  and  its  parts  thus  minute,  it  may  easi- 
ly be  supposed  that  they  enter  into  the  composition  of  all  bodies, 
vegetable,  animal,  and  fossil.  This  every  chymist's  experience  con- 
vinces him  of;  and  the  mixture  is  the  more  obvious,  as  it  can  always 
be  separated,  by  a  gentle  heat,  from  those  substances  with  which  it 
had  been  united.  Fire,  as  was  said,  will  penetrate  where  water 
cannot  pass  ;  but  then  it  is  not  so  easily  to  be  separated.  But  there 
is  scarce  any  substance  from  which  its  water  cannot  be  divorced. 
The  parings  or  filings  of  lead,  tin,  arid  antimony,  by  distillation,  yield 
water  plentifully  :  the  hardest  stones,  sea-salt,  nitre,  vitriol,  and  sul- 
phur, are  found  to  consist  chiefly  of  water  ;  into  which  they  resolve 
by  force  of  fire.  "  All  birds,  beasts,  and  fishts,"  says  Newton,  "  in- 
socts,  trees,  and  vegetables,  with  their  parts,  grow  from  water  ;  and, 
oy  putrefaction,  return  t>  water  again."  In  short,  almost  every  sub- 
stance that  we  see,  owes  its  texture  and  firmness  to  the  parts  of  WT 


THE  EARTH  71 

ter  that  mix  with  its  earth  ;  and,  deprived  of  this  fluid,  it  becomes  n 
mass  of  shapeless  dust  and  ashes. 

From  hence  we  see,  as  was  above  hinted,  that  this  most  fluid  body, 
when  mixed  with  others,  gives  them  consistence  and  form.  Water, 
by  being  mixed  with  earth  and  ashes,  and  formed  into  a  vessel,  when 
baked  before  tli3  fire,  becomes  a  coppel,  remarkable  for  this,  that  i* 
will  bear  the  utmost  force  of  the  hottest  furnace  that  art  can  contrive. 
So  the  Chinese  earth,  of  which  porcelain  is  made,  is  nothing  more 
than  an  artificial  composition  of  earth  and  water,  united  by  heat ;  and 
which  a  greater  degree  of  heat  could  easily  separate.  Thus  we  see 
a  body,  extremely  fluid  of  itself,  in  some  measure  assuming  a  new  na- 
ture, by  being  united  with  others :  we  see  a  body,  whose  fluid  and 
dissolving  qualities  are  so  obvious,  giving  consistence  and  hardness 
to  all  the  substances  of  the  earth. 

From  considerations  of  this  kind,  Thales,  and  many  of  the  ancient 
philosophers,  held  that  all  things  were  made  of  water.  In  order  to 
confirm  this  opinion,  Helmont  made  an  experiment,  by  divesting  a 
quantity  of  earth  of  all  its  oils  and  salts,  and  then  putting  this  earth, 
so.  prepared,  into  an  earthen  pot,  which  nothing  but  rain-water  could 
enter,  and  planting  a  willow  therein  ;  this  vegetable,  so  planted,  grew 
up  to  a  considerable  height  and  bulk,  merely  from  the  accidental  as- 
persion of  rain-water ;  while  the  earth,  in  which  it  was  planted,  re- 
ceived no  sensible  diminution.  From  this  experiment,  he  concluded, 
that  water  was  the  only  nourishment  of  the  vegetable  tribe  ;  and  that 
vegetables,  being  the  nourishment  of  animals,  all  organized  substances^ 
therefore,  owed  their  support  and  being  only  to  water.  But  this  has 
been  said  by  Woodward  to  be  all  a  mistake  :  for  he  shows,  that  water 
being  impregnated  with  earthy  particles,  is  only  the  conveyer  of  such 
substances  into  the  pores  of  vegetables,  rather  than  an  increaser 
of  them,  by  its  own  bulk  :  he  shows  that  water  is  ever  found  to  afford 
much  less  nourishment,  in  proportion  as  it  is  purified  by  distillation. 
A  plant  in  distilled  water,  will  not  grow  so  fast  as  in  water  not  dis- 
tilled :  and  if  the  same  be  distilled  three  or  four  times  over,  the  plant 
will  scarce  grow  at  all,  or  receive  any  nourishment  from  it.  So  that 
water,  as  such,  does  not  seem  the  proper  nourishment  of  vegetables, 
but  only  the  vehicle  thereof,  which  contains  the  nutritious  particles, 
and  carries  them  through  all  parts  of  the  plant.  Water,  in  its  pure 
state,  may  suffice  to  extend  or  swell  the  parts  of  a  plant,  but  affords 
vegetable  matter  in  a  moderate  proportion. 

However  this  be,  it  is  agreed  on  all  sides,  that  water,  such  as  we 
find  it,  is  far  from  being  a  pure  simple  substance.  The  most  genuine 
we  know  is  mixed  with  exhalations  and  dissolutions  of  various  kinds  ; 
and  no  expedient  that  has  been  hitherto  discovered,  is  capable  of  pu- 
rifying it  entirely.  If  we  filter  and  distil  it  a  thousand  times,  accord- 
ing to  Boerhaave,  it  will  still  depose  a  sediment :  and  by  repeating 
the  process  we  may  evaporate  it  entirely  away,  but  can  never  totally 
remove  its  impurities.  Some,  however,  assert,  that  water,  properly 
distilled,  will  have  no  sediment  ;*  and  that  the  little  white  speck 
which  is  found  at  the  bottom  of  the  still,  is  a  substance  mat  entt'is 

*  Hill's  History  of  Fossils. 


72  A  HISTORY  OF 

from  without.  Kircher  used  to  show  in  his  museum,  a  phiai  ol  water, 
that  nad  been  kept  for  fifty  years,  hermetically  sealed  ;*  during  which 
it  had  deposed  no  sediment,  but  continued  as  transparent  as  when 
first  it  was  put  in.  How  far,  therefore,  it  may  be  brought  to  a  state 
of  purity  by  distillation,  is  unknown  ;  but  we  very  well  know,  that  all 
such  water  as  we  every  where  see,  is  a  bed  in  which  plants,  minerals, 
and  animals,  are  all  found  confusedly  floating  together. 

Rain-water,  which  is  a  fluid  of  Nature's  own  distilling,  and  which 
has  been  raised  so  high  by  evaporation,  is,  nevertheless,  a  very  mixed 
and  impure  substance.  Exhalations  of  all  kinds,  whether  salts,  sul- 
phurs, or  metals,  make  a  part  of  its  substance,  and  tend  to  increase  its 
weight.  If  we  gather  the  water  that  falls,  after  a  thunder-clap,  in  a 
sultry  summer's  day,  and  let  it  settle,  we  shall  find  a  real  salt  sticking 
at  the  bottom.  .  In  winter,  however,  its  impure  mixtures  are  fewer, 
but  still  may  be  separated  by  distillation.  But  as  to  that  which  is 
generally  caught  pouring  from  the  tops  of  houses,  it  is  particularly  foul, 
being  impregnated  with  the  smoke  of  the  chimnies,  the  vapour  of  the 
slate  or  tiles,  and  with  other  impurities  that  birds  and  animals  may 
have  deposited  there.  Besides,  though  it  should  be  supposed  free 
from  all  these,  it  is  mixed  with  a  quantity  of  air,  which,  after  being 
kept  for  some  time,  will  be  seen  to  separate. 

Spring-water  is  next  in  point  of  purity.  This,  according  to  Dr. 
Halley,  is  collected  from  the  air  itself;  which  being  sated  with  water, 
and  coming  to  be  condensed  by  the  evening's  cold,  is  driven  against 
the  tops  of  the  mountains,  where  being  condensed,  and  collected,  it 
trickles  down  by  the  sides,  into  the  cavities  of  the  earth  ;  and  running 
for  a  while  underground,  bubbles  up  in  fountains  upon  the  plain.  This 
having  made  but  a  short  circulation,  has  generally  had  no  long  time 
to  dissolve  or  imbibe  any  foreign  substances  by  the  way. 

River-water  is  generally  more  foul  than  the  former. — Wherever 
the  stream  flows,  it  receives  a  tincture  from  its  channel.  Plants, 
minerals,  and  animals,  all  contribute  to  add  to  its  impurities :  so  that 
such  as  live  at  the  mouths  of  great  rivers,  generally  are  subject  to  all 
those  disorders  which  contaminated  and  unwholesome  waters  are 
known  to  produce.  Of  all  the  river-water  in  the  world,  that  of  the 
Indus  and  the  Thames  is  said  to  be  the  most  light  and  wholesome. 

The  most  impure  fresh-water  that  we  know,  is  that  of  stagnated 
pools  and  lakes,  which,  in  summer,  may  be  more  properly  considered 
as  a  jelly  of  floating  insects,  than  a  collection  of  water.  In  this,  mil- 
lions of  little  reptiles,  undisturbed  by  any  current,  which  might  crush 
their  fiames  to  pieces,  breed  and  engender.  The  whole  teems  with 
shapeless  life,  and  only  grows  more  fruitful  by 'increasing  putrefac- 
tion. - 

Of  the  purity  of  all  these  waters,  the  lightness,  and  not  the  trans- 
parency, ought  to  be  the  test.  Water  may  be  extremely  clear  and 
beautiful  to  the  eye,  and  yet  very  much  impregnated  with  mineral 
narticles.  In  fact,  sea-water  is  the  most  transparent  of  any,  and  yet 

*  Hermetically  sealing  a  £ass  vessel,  means  no  more  than  heating  the  mouth  of  the  phi&l 
t«d  hot ;  and  thus  when  the  glass  is  become  pliant,  squeezing  the  mouth  to:  ether  with  a  f  «ii 
of  pincers,  and  then  twisting  it  six  or  seven  times  round,  which  effectually  closer  it  up. 


Phalarmer,  or  Surinam  Rut,  p.  278. 


Bahyroussa,  p.  97. 


Hedgehog,  p.  214. 


THE  EARTH.  73 

H.  ii  well  known  to  contain  a  large  mixture  of  salt  and  bitumen.  On 
the  contrary,  those  waters  which  are  lightest,  have  the  fewest  dissolu- 
tions floating  in  them  ;  and  may,  therefore,  be  the  most  useful  for  all 
the  purposes  of  life.  But,  after  all,  though  much  has  been  said  upon 
this  subject,  and  although  waters  have  been  weighed  with  great  assi- 
duity, to  determine  their  degree  of  salubrity,  yet  neither  this,  nor  their 
curdling  with  soap,  nor  any  other  philosophical  standard  whatsoever, 
will  answer  the  purposes  of  true  information.  Experience  alone  ought 
to  determine  the  useful  or  noxious  qualities  of  every  spring  ;  and  ex- 
jerience  assures  us,  that  different  kinds  of  water  are  adapted  to  dif- 
ferent constitutions.  An  incontestible  proof  of  this,  are  the  many 
medicinal  springs  throughout  the  world,  whose  peculiar  benefits  are 
known  to  the  natives  of  their  respective  countries.  These  are  of  va- 
rious kinds,  according  to  the  different  minerals  with  which  they  are 
impregnated  ;  hot,  saline,  sulphureous,  bituminous,  and  oily.  But  the 
account  of  these  will  come  most  properly  under  that  of  the  several 
minerals  by  which  they  are  produced. 

After  all,  therefore,  we  must  be  contented  with  but  an  impure  mix- 
ture for  our  daily  beverage.  And  yet,  perhaps,  this  very  mixture 
may  often  be  more  serviceable  to  our  health  than  that  of  a  purer 
kind.  We  know  that  it  is  so  with  regard  to  vegetables  :  and  why  not, 
also,  in  general,  to  man  ?  Be  this  as  it  will,  if  we  are  desirous  of  hav- 
ing water  in  its  greatest  purity,  we  are  ordered,  by  the  curious  in  this 
particular,  to  distil  it  from  snow,  gathered  upon  the  tops  of  the  highest 
mountains,  and  to  take  none  but  the  outer  and  superficial  part  there- 
of. This  we  must  be  satisfied  to  call  pure  water  ;  but  even  this  is  far 
short  of  the  pure  unmixed  philosophical  element ;  which,  in  reality, 
is  no  where  to  be  found. 

As  water  is  thus  mixed  with  foreign  matter,  and  often  the  reposi- 
tory of  minute  animals,  or  vegetable  seeds,  we  need  not  be  surprised 
that,  when  carried  to  sea,  it  is  always  found  to  putrefy.  But  we  must 
not  suppose  that  it  is  the  element  itself  which  thus  grows  putrid  and 
offensive,  but  the  substances  with  which  it  is  impregnated.  It  is  true, 
the  utmost  precautions  are  taken  to  destroy  all  vegetable  and  animal 
substances  that  may  have  previously  been  lodged  in  it,  by  boiling; 
but,  notwithstanding  this,  there  are  some  that  will  stiil  survive  the  opera- 
tion, and  others  that  find  their  way  during  the  lime  of  its  stowage. 
Seamen,  therefore,  assure  us,  that  their  water  is  generally  found  to 
putrefy  twice,  at  least,  and  sometimes  three  times  in  a  long  voyage. 
In  about  a  month  after  it  has  been  at  sea,  when  the  bung  is  taken  out 
of  the  cask,  it  sends  up  a  noisome  and  dangerous  vapour,  which  would 
take  fire  upon  the  application  of  a  candle.*  The  whole  body  of  the 
water  then  is  found  replete  with  little  worm-like  insects,  that  float, 
with  great  briskness,  through  all  its  parts.  These  generally  live  for 
about  a  couple  of  days ;  and  then  dying,  by  depositing  their  spoils, 
for  a  while  increase  the  putrefaction.  After  a  time,  the  heavier 
parts  of  these  sinking  to  the  bottom,  the  lighter  float,  in  a  scum,  at  the 
top  ;  and  this  is  what  mariners  call,  the  water's  purging  itself.  Thens 
«$  still,  however,  another  race  of  insects,  which  are  bred,  very  proba- 

*    Phil.  Trans,  vol.  v.  part  ii.  p.  71. 


T4  A  HISTORY  OF 

bly,  from  the  spoils  of  the  former ;  and  produce,  after  some  time, 
similar  appearances  ;  these  dying,  the  water  is  then  thought  to  change 
no  more.  However,  it  very  often  happens,  especially  in  hot  climates, 
that  nothing  can  drive  these  nauseous  insects  from  the  ship's  store 
of  water.  They  often  increase  to  a  very  disagreeable  and  frightful 
size,  so  as  to  deter  the  mariner,  though  parching  with  thirst,  from 
tasting  that  cup  which  they  have  contaminated. 

This  water,  as  thus  described,  therefore,  is  a  very  different  fluid 
from  that  simple  elementary  substance  upon  which  philosophical  the- 
ories have  been  founded ;  and  concerning  the  nature  of  which  there 
have  been  so  many  disputes.  Elementary  water  is  no  way  compound- 
ed ;  but  is  without  taste,  smell,  or  colour ;  and  incapable  of  being  dis- 
cerned by  any  of  the  senses,  except  the  touch.  This  is  the  famous 
dissolvent  of  the  chymists,  into  which,  as  they  have  boasted,  they  can 
reduce  all  bodies  ;  and  which  makes  up  all  other  substances,  only  by 
putting  on  a  different  disguise.  In  some  forms,  it  is  fluid,  transparent, 
and  evasive  of  the  touch  ;  in  others,  hard,  firm,  and  elastic.  In  some, 
it  is  stiffened  by  cold ;  in  others,  dissolved  by  fire.  According  to 
them,  it  only  assumes  external  shapes  from  accidental  causes  ;  but  the 
mountain  is  as  much  a  body  of  water,  as  the  cake  of  ice  that  melts  on 
its  brow ;  and  even  the  philosopher  himself  is  composed  of  the  same 
materials  with  the  cloud  or  meteor  which  he  contemplates. 

Speculation  seldom  rests  where  it  begins.  Others  disallowing  the 
universality  of  this  substance,  will  not  allow  that  in  a  state  of  nature 
there  is  any  such  thing  as  water  at  all.  "  What  assumes  the  appear- 
ance," say  they,  "  is  nothing  more  than  melted  ice.  Ice  is  the  real  ele- 
ment of  Nature's  making ;  and  when  found  in  a  state  of  fluidity,  it  is 
then  in  a  state  of  violence.  All  substances  are  naturally  hard ;  but 
some  more  readi'y  melt  with  heat  than  others.  It  requires  a  great 
heat  to  melt  iron  ;  a  smaller  heat  will  melt  copper  :  silver,  gold,  tin, 
and  lead,  melt  with  smaller  still  :  ice,  which  is  a  body  like  the  rest, 
melts  with  a  very  moderate  warmth  ;  and  quicksilver  melts  with  the 
smallest  warmth  of  all.  Water,  therefore,  is  but  ice  kept  in  continual 
fusion  ;  and  still  returning  to  its  former  state,  when  the  heat  is  taken 
away."  Between  these  opposite  opinions,  the  controversy  has  been 
carried  on  with  great  ardour,  and  much  has  been  written  on  both 
sides ;  and  yet,  when  we  come  to  examine  the  debate,  it  will  proba- 
bly terminate  in  this  question,  whether  cold  or  heat  first  began  their 
operations  upon  water  ?  This  is  a  fact  of  very  little  importance, 
if  known  ;  and,  what  is  more,  it  is  a  fact  we  can  never  know. 

Indeed,  if  we  examine  into  the  operations  of  cold  and  heat  upon 
water,  we  shall  find  that  they  produce  somewhat  similar  effects.  Wa- 
ter dilates  in  its  bulk,  by  heat,  to  a  very  considerable  degree ;  and, 
what  is  more  extraordinary,  it  is  likewise  dilated  by  cold,  in  the  same 
manner. 

Jf  water  be  placed  over  a  fire,  it  grows  gradually  larger  in  bulk,  as 
it  becomes  hot,  until  it  begins  to  boil ;  after  which  no  art  can  either 
increase  its  bulk  or  its  heat.  By  increasing  the  fire,  indeed,  i«. 
may  be  more  quicKiy  evaporated  away  ;  but  its  heat  and  its  bulk  still 
«outinue  the  same.  By  the  expanding  of  this  fluid,  by  heat,  philoso- 
phers have  found  a  way  to  determine  the  warmth  or  the  coldo?ss 


THE  EARTH.  .         .  75 

of  other  bodies  :  for  if  put  into  a  glass  tube,  by  its  swelling  and  rising 
it  shows  the  quantity  of  heat  in  the  body  to  which  it  is  applied  ;  by  its 
contracting  and  sinking,  it  shows  the  absence  of  the  same.'  Instead 
of  using  water  in  this  instrument,  which  is  called  a  thermometer,  they 
now  make  use  of  spirit  of  wine,  which  is  not  apt  to  freeze,  and  which 
is  endued  even  with  a  greater  expansion  by  heat  than  water.  The 
instrument  consists  of  nothing  more  than  a  hollow  ball  of  glass,  with 
a  long  tube  growing  out  of  it.  This  being  partly  filled  with  spirits  of 
wine  tinctured  red,  so  as  to  be  seen  when  it  rises,  the  ball  is  plunged 
into  boiling  water,  which  making  the  spirit  witmn  expand  and  rise  in 
the  tube,  the  water  marks  the  greatest  height  to  which  it  ascends ;  at 
this  point  the  tube  is  to  be  broken  off,  and  then  hermetically  sec  Jed, 
by  melting  the  glass  with  a  blow-pipe :  a  scale  being  placed  by  the 
side,  completes  the  thermometer.  Now  as  the  fluid  expands  or  con- 
denses with  heat  or  cold,  it  will  rise  and  fall  in  the  tube  in  proportion ; 
and  the  degree  or  quantity  of  ascent  or  descent  will  be  seen  in  the  scale. 

No  fire,  as  was  said,  can  make  water  hotter,  after  it  begins  to  boil. 
We  can,  therefore,  at  any  time  be  sure  of  an  equable  certain  heat ; 
which  is  that  of  boiling  water,  which  is  invariably  the  same.  The 
certainty  of  such  a  heat  is  not  less  useful  than  the  instrument  that 
measures  it.  It  affords  a  standard,  fixed,  degree  of  heat  over  the 
whole  world  ;  boiling  water  being  as  hot  hi  Greenland,  as  upon  the 
coasts  of  Guinea.  One  fire  is  more  intense  than  another ;  of  heat 
there  are  various  degrees  ;  but  boiling  water  is  a  heat  every  where 
the  same,  and  easily  procurable. 

As  heat  thus  expands  water,  so  cold,  when  it  is  violent  enough  to 
freeze  the  same,  produces  exactly  the  same  effect,  and  expands  it  like- 
wise. Thus  water  is  acted  upon  in  the  same  manner  by  two  opposite 
qualities ;  being  dilated  by  both.  As  a  proof  that  it  is  dilated  by 
cold,  we  have  only  to  observe  the  ice  floating  on  the  surface  of  a 
pond,  which  it  would  not  do  were  it  not  dilated,  and  grown  more 
bulky,  by  freezing,  than  the  water,  which  remains  unfroze.  Mr. 
Boyle,  however,  put  the  matter  past  a  doubt,  by  a  variety  of  experi- 
ments.* Having  poured  a  proper  quantity  of  water  into  a  strong 
earthen  vessel,  he  exposed  it,  uncovered,  to  the  open  air,  in  frosty 
nights  ;  and  observed,  that  continually  the  ice  reached  higher  than  the 
water,  before  it  was  frozen.  He  filled  also  a  tube  with  water,  and 
stopped  both  ends  with  wax :  the  water,  wht,n  frozen,  was  found  to 
push  out  the  stopples  from  both  ends  ;  and  a  rod  of  ice  appeared  at 
each  end  of  the  tube,  which  showed  how  much  it  was  swollen  by  the 
cold  within. 

From  hence,  therefore,  we  may  be  very  certain  ^/  the  cold's  dilat- 
ing of  the  water ;  and  experience  also  shows,  that  the  force  of  this 
expansion  has  been  found  as  great  as  any  which  heat  has  been  found 
to  produce.  The  touch-hole  of  a  strong  gun-barrel  being  stopped, 
and  a  plug  of  iron  forcibly  driven  into  the  muzzle,  after  the  barrel 
had  been  filled  with  water,  it  was  placed  in  a  mixture  of  ice  and  salt ; 
the  plug,  though  soldered  to  the  barrel,  at  first  gave  way,  but  being 
fixed  in  more  firmly,  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  gun-barrei  burs! 

*  Boyle,  vol.  i.  p.  610. 


rt>  A  HISTORY  OF 

wifn  a  loud  noise,  and  blew  up  the  cover  of  the  box  wherein  it  lay 
Such  is  its  force  in  an  ordinary  experiment.  But  it  has  been  knowr 
lo  burst  cannons,  filled  with  water,  and  then  left  to  freeze  ;  for  the 
cold  congealing  the  water,  and  the  ice  swelling,  it  became  irresistible. 
The  bursting  of  rocks,  by  frost,  which  is  frequent  in  the  northern  cli- 
mates, and  is  sometimes  seen  in  our  own,  is  an  equal  proof  of  the  ex 
pansion  of  congealed  water.  For  having  by  some  means  insinuated 
itself  into  the  body  of  the  rock,  it  has  remained  there  till  the  cold  was 
sufficient  to  afl'ect  it  by  congelation.  But  when  once  frozen,  no  ob- 
stacle is  able  to  confine  it  from  dilating;  and,  if  it  cannot  otherwise 
find  room,  the  rock  must  burst  asunder. 

This  alteration  in  the  bulk  of  water  might  have  served  as  a  proof  that 
it  was  capable  of  being  compressed  into  a  narrower  space  than  it  oc- 
cupied before ;  but,  till  of  late,  water  was  held  to  be  incompressible. 
The  general  opinion  was,  that  no  art  whatsoever  could  squeeze  it  intc 
a  narrower  compass;  that  no  power  on  earth,  for  instance,  could 
force  a  pint  of  water  into  a  vessel  that  held  a  hair's-breadth  less  than 
a  pint.  And  this,  said  they,  appears  from  the  famous  Florentine  ex- 
periment ;  where  the  water,  rather  than  suffer  compressure,  was  seen 
to  ooze  through  the  pores  of  the  solid  metal ;  and,  at  length,  making 
a  cleft  in  the  side,  spur  ~ut  with  great  vehemence.  But  later  trials 
have  proved  that  water  is  very  compressible,  and  partakes  of  that 
elasticity  which  every  other  body  possesses  in  some  degree.  In- 
deed, had  not  mankind  been  dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  of  one  incon- 
clusive experiment,  there  were  numerous  reasonstoconvince  them  of 
its  having  the  same  properties  with  other  substances.  Ic«,  which  is 
water  in  another  state,  is  very  elastic.  A  stone,  flung  slantingly 
along  the  surface  of  a  pond,  bounds  from  the  water  several  times  ; 
which  shows  it  to  be  elastic  also.  But  the  trials  of  Mr.  Canton  have 
put  this  past  all  doubt ;  which  being  somewhat  similar  to  those  of  the 
great  Boyle,  who  pressed  it  with  weights  properly  applied,  carry  suf 
ficient  conviction. 

What  has  been  hitherto  related,  is  chiefly  applicable  to  the  element 
of  water  alone  ;  but  its  fluidity  is  a  property  that  it  possesses  in  com- 
mon with  several  other  substances,  in  other  respects  greatly  differing 
from  it.  That  quality  which  gives  rise  to  the  definition  of  a  fluid, 
namely,  that  its  parts  are  in  a  continual  intestine  motion,  seems  ex- 
tremely applicable  to  water.  What  the  shapes  of  those  parts  are,  it 
would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  discover.  Every  trial  only  shows  the  fu- 
tility of  the  attempt;  all  we  find  is,  that  they  are  extremely  minute; 
and  that  they  roll  over  each  other  with  the  greatest  ease.  Some,  in- 
deed, from  this  property  alone,  have  not  hesitated  to  pronounce  them 
globular ;  and  we  have,  in  all  our  hydrostatical  books,  pictures  of 
these  little  globes  in  a  state  of  sliding  and  rolling  over  each  other. 
But  all  this  is  merely  the  work  of  imagination ;  we  know  that  sub- 
stances of  any  kind,  reduced  very  small,  assume  a  fluid  appearance, 
somewhat  resembling  that  of  water.  Mr.  Boyle,  after  finely  powder, 
ing  and  sifting  a  little  dry  powder  of  Plaster  of  Paris,  put  it  in  a  ves- 
sel over  the  fire,  where  it  soon  began  to  boil  like  water,  exhibiting  all  the 
motions  and  appearances  of  a  boiling  liquor.  Although  but  a  povvdei, 
the  parts  of  which  we  know  are  vory  different  from  erch  <  th*r,  and 


THE  EARTH.  77 

just  as  accident  has  formed  them,  yet  it  heaved  in  great  waves  like 
water.  Upon  agitation,  a  heavy  body  will  sink  to  the  bottom,  and 
a  light  one  emerge  to  the  top.  There  is  no  reason,  then,  to  suppose 
the  figure  of  the  parts  of  water  round,  since  we  see  their  fluidity  very 
well  imitated  by  a  composition,  the  parts  of  which  are  of  various  forms 
and  sizes.  The  shape  of  the  parts  of  water,  therefore,  we  must  be 
content  to  continue  ignorant  of.  All  we  know  is,  that  earth,  air,  and 
lire,  conduce  to  separate  the  parts  from  each  other. 

Earthy  substances  divide  the  parts  from  each  other,  and  keep  them 
asunder.  This  division  may  be  so  great,  that  the  water  will  entirely 
lose  its  fluidity  thereby.  Mud,  potter's*  clay,  and  dried  bricks,  are  but 
so  many  different  combinations  of  earth  and  water,  each  substance  in 
which  the  parts  of  water  are  most  separated  from  each  other,  appear- 
ing to  be  the  most  dry.  In  some  substances,  indeed,  where  the  parts 
of  water  are  greatly  divided,  as  in  porcelain,  for  instance,  it  is  no  easy 
matter  to  recover  and  bring  them  together  again  ;  but  they  continue 
in  a  manner  fixed  and  united  to  the  manufactured  clay.  This  cir- 
cumstance led  Doctor  Cheney  into  a  very  peculiar  strain  of  thinking. 
He  suspected  that  the  quantity  of  water,  on  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
was  daily  decreasing.  For,  says  he,  some  parts  of  it  are  continually 
joined  to  vegetable,  animal,  and  mineral  substances,  which  no  art  can 
again  recover.  United  with  these,  the  water  loses  its  fluidity  ;  for  ify 
continues  he,  we  separate  a  few  particles  of  any  fluid,  and  fasten  them 
to  a  solid  body,  or  keep  them  asunder,  they  will  be  fluid  no  longer 
To  produce  fluidity,  a  considerable  number  of  such  particles  are  re- 
quired ;  but  here  they  are  close,  and  destitute  of  their  natural  proper* 
ties.  Thus,  according  to  him,  the  world  is  growing  every  day  harder 
and  harder,  and  the  earth  firmer  and  firmer  ;  and  there  may  come  a 
time  when  every  object  around  us  may  be  stiffened  in  universal  frigidi- 
ty !  However,  we  have  causes  enough  of  anxiety  in  this  world  already, 
not  to  add  this  preposterous  concern  to  the  number. 

That  air  also  contributes  to  divide  the  parts  of  water,  we  can  have 
no  manner  of  doubt  ;  some  have  even  disputed  whether  water  be  not 
capable  of  being  turned  into  air.  However,  though  this  cannot  be 
allowed,  it  must  be  granted,  that  it  may  be  turned  into  a  substance 
which  greatly  resembles  air  (as  we  have  seen  in  the  experiment  of  the 
relipile)  with  all  its  properties;  except  that,  by  cold,  this  new-made 
air  may  be  condensed  again  into  water. 

But  of  all  the  substances  which  tend  to  divide  the  parts  of  water, 
fire  is  the  most  powerful.  Water,  when  heated  into  steam,  acquires 
such  force,  and  the  parts  of  it  tend  to  fly  off  from  each  other  with  such 
violence,  that  no  earthly  substance  we  know  of  is  strong  enough  to 
confine  them.  A  single  drop  of  water,  converted  into  steam,  has  been 
found  capable  of  raising  a  weight  of  twenty  tons ;  and  would  have 
raised  twenty  thousand,  were  the  vessel  confining  it  sufficiently  strong. 
and  the  fire  below  increased  in  proportion. 

From  this  easy  yielding  of  its  parts  to  external  pressure,  arises  the 
art  of  determining  the  specific  gravity  of  bodies  by  plunging  them  in 
water;  with  many  other  useful  discoveries  in  that  part  of  natural  phi" 
'osophy,  called  hydrostatics.  The  laws  of  this  science,  which  Ai- 
•thimedes  began,  and  Pascal,  with  some  other  of  the  moderns,  have 


78  A  HISTORY  OF 

much  improved,  rather  belongs  to  experimental  than  to  natural  histo- 
ry. However,  1  will  take  leave  to  mention  some  of  the  most  striking 
paradoxes  in  this  branch  of  science,  which  are  as  well  confirmed  by 
experiment,  as  rendered  universal  by  theory.  It  would,  indeed,  be 
unpardonable,  while  discoursing  on  the  properties  of  water,  to  omit 
giving  some  account  of  the  manner  in  which  it  sustains  such  im- 
mense bulks  as  we  see  floating  upon  its  soft  and  yielding  surface  : 
how  some  bodies,  that  are  known  fo  sink  at  one  time,  swim  with  ease, 
if  their  surface  be  enlarged :  how  the  heaviest  body,  even  gold  itself, 
may  be  made  to  swim  upon  water  ;  and  how  the  lightest,  such  as 
cork,  shall  remain  sunk  at  the  bottom  :  how  the  pouring  in  of  a  sin- 
gle quart  of  water,  will  burst  a  hogshead  hooped  with  iron  :  and  how 
it  ascends,  in  pipes,  from  the  valley,  to  travel  over  the  mountain  : 
these  are  circumstances  that  are  at  first  surprising ;  but,  upon  a  slight 
consideration,  lose  their  wonder. 

*  In  order  to  conceive  the  manner  in  vnich  all  these  wonders  are 
effected,  we  must  begin  by  observing  tnat  water  is  possessed  of  an  in- 
variable property,  which  has  not  hitherto  been   mentioned  ;  that  of 
always  keeping  its  surface  level  and  even.     Winds,  indeed,  may  raise 
it  into  waves  :  or  art  spurt  it  up  in  fountains ;  but  ever,  when  left  to 
itself,  it  sinks  into  a  smooth    even  surface,  of  which  no  part  is  higher 
than  another.     If  I  should  pour  water,  for  instance,  into  the  arm  of  a 
pipe  of  the  shape  of  the  letter  U,  the  fluid  would  rise  in  the  other  arm 

{'ust  to  the  same  height  ;  because,  otherwise,  it  would  not  find  its 
evel,  which  it  invariably  maintains.  A  pipe  bending  from  one  hill 
down  into  the  valley,  and  rising  by  another,  may  be  considered  as  a 
tube  of  this  kind,  in  which  the  water,  sinking  in  one  arm,  rises  to 
maintain  its  level  in  the  other.  Upon  this  principle  all  water-pipes 
depend ;  which  can  never  raise  the  water  higheV  than  the  fountain 
from  which  they  proceed. 

Again,  let  us  suppose  for  a  moment,  that  the  arms  of  the  pipe  al- 
ready mentioned,  may  be  made  long  or  short  at  pleasure  ;  and  let  us 
still  further  suppose,  that  there  is  some  obstacle  at  the  bottom  of  it, 
which  prevents  the  water  poured  into  one  arm,  from  rising  in  the 
other.  Now  it  is  evident,  that  this  obstacle  at  the  bottom  will  sustain 
a  pressure  from  the  water  in  one  arm,  equal  to  what  would  make  it 
rise  in  the  other ;  and  this  pressure  will  be  great,  in  proportion  as 
the  arm  filled  with  water  is  tall.  We  may,  therefore,  generally  con- 
clude, that  the  bottom  of  every  vessel  is  pressed  by  a  force,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  height  of  the  water  in  that  vessel.  For  instance,  if  the 
vessel  filled  with  water  be  forty  feet  high,  the  bottom  of  that  vessel 
will  sustain  such  a  pressure  as  would  raise  the  same  water  forty  feet 
high,  which  is  very  great.  From  hence  we  see  how  extremely  apt 
our  pipes,  that  convey  water  to  the  city,  are  to  burst ;  for  descending 
•from  a  hill  of  more  than  forty  feet  high,  they  are  pressed  by  the  wa- 
ter contained  in  them,  with  a  force  equal  to  what  would  raise  it  to 
more  than  forty  feet  high  ;  and  that  this  is  sometime^  able  to  burst  a 
wooden  pipe,  we  can  have  no  room  to  doubt  of. 

•  In  the  above  sketch,  the  manner  of  demonstrating  used  by  Monsieur  D'Alemrwrt  k 
wade  use  o£  as  the  most  obvious,  and  the  most  satisfactory.     Vide  Essai  sur,  &o. 


THE  EARTH  T9 

Still  recurring  to  our  pipe,  let  us  suppose  one  of  its  arms  ten  times 
•is  thick  as  the  other;  this  will  produce  no  effect  whatsoever  upon  the 
obstacle  below,  which  we  supposed  hindered  its  rise  in  the  other  arm ; 
because,  how  thick  soever  the  pipe  may  be,  its  contents  would  only  rise 
to  its  own  level ;  and  it  will,  therefore,  press  the  obstacle  with  a  force 
equal  thereto.  We  may,  therefore,  universally  conclude,  that  the 
bottom  of  any  vessel  is  pressed  by  its  water,  not  as  it  is  broad  or 
narrow,  but  in  proportion  as  it  is  high.  Thus  the  water  contained 
in  a  vessel  not  thicker  than  my  finger,  presses  its  bottom  as  forcibly 
as  the  water  contained  in  a  hogshead  of  an  equal  height ;  and.  if  we 
made  holes  in  the  bottoms  of  both,  the  water  would  burst  out  as 
forceful  from  the  one  as  the  other.  Hence  we  may,  with  great  ease, 
burst  a  hogshead  with  a  single  quart  of  water ;  and  it  has  been  often 
done.  We  have  only,*  for  this,  to  place  a  hogshead  on  one  end,  fill 
ed  with  water;  we  then  bore  a  hole  in  its  top,  into  which  we  plant  a 
narrow  tin  pipe,  of  about  thirty  feet  high  :  by  pouring  a  quart  of  water 
into  this,  at  the  top,  as  it  continues  to  rise  higher  in  the  pipe,  it  will 
press  more  forcibly  on  the  bottom  and  sides  of  the  hogshead  below, 
and  at  last  burst  it. 

Still  returning  to  our  simple  instrument  of  demonstration.  If  wo 
suppose  the  obstacle  at  the  bottom  of  the  pipe  to  be  moveable,  so  as 
that  the  force  of  the  water  can  push  it  up  into  the  other  arm  ;  such  a 
body  as  quicksilver,  for  instance.  Now,  it  is  evident,  that  the  weight 
of  water  weighing  down  upon  this  quicksilver  in  one  arm,  will  at  last 
press  it  up  in  the  other  arm  ;  and  will  continue  to  press  it  upward, 
until  the  fluid  in  both  arms  be  upon  a  par.  So  that  here  we  actually 
see  quicksilver,  the  heaviest  substance  in  the  world,  except  gold  and 
platina,  floating  upon  water,  which  is  but  a  very  light  substance. 

-When  we  see  water  thus  capable  of  sustaining  quicksilver,  we 
need  not  be  surprised  that  it  is  capable  of  floating  much  lighter  sub- 
stances, ships,  animals,  or  timber  .  When  any  thing  floats  upon  wa- 
ter, we  always  see  that  a  part  of  it  sinks  in  the  same.  A  cork,  a  ship, 
a  buoy,  each  buries  itself  in  a  bed  on  the  surface  of  the  water  ;  this  bed 
may  be  considered  as  so  much  water  displaced  ;  the  water  will,  there- 
fore, lose  SQ  much  of  its  own  weight,  as  is  equal  to  the  weight  of  that 
bed  of  water  which  it  displaces.  If  the  body  be  heavier  than  a  simi- 
lar bulk  of  water,  it  will  sink ;  if  lighter,  it  will  swim.  Universally, 
therefore,  a  body  plunged  in  water,  loses  as  much  of  its  weight  as  is 
equal  to  the  weight  of  a  body  of  water  of  its  own  bulk.  Some  light 
bodies,  therefore,  such  as  cork,  lose  much  of  their  weight,  and  there- 
fore swim  ;  other  more  ponderous  bodies  sink,  because  they  are 
heavier  than  their  bulk  of  water. 

Upon  this  simple  theorem  entirely  depends  the  art  of  weighing 
metals  hydrostatically.  I  have"  a  guinea,  for  instance,  and  desire 
to  know  whether  it  be  pure  gold  ;  I  have  weighed  it  in  the  usual 
way  with  another  guinea,  and  find  it  exactly  of  the  same  weight, 
but  still  I  have  some  ''suspicion,  from  its  greater  hulk,  that  it  is  not 
pure.  In  order  to  determine  this,  I  have  nothing  more  to  do  than  to 
weigh  it  in  water  with  that  same  guinea  that  I  know  to  be  good,  aud 

*  Nollet's  Lectures. 


80  A  HISTORY  OF 

of  the  same  weight ;  and  this  will  instantly  show  the  difference  ;  fo, 
the  true  ponderous  metal  will  sink,  and  the  false  bulky  one  will  be 
sustained  in  proportion  to  the  greatness  of  its  surface.  Those  whose 
business  it  is  to  examine  the  purity  of  metals,  have  a  balance  made 
for  this  purpose,  by  which  they  can  precisely  determine  which  is 
most  ponderous,  or,  as  it  is  expressed,  which  has  the  greatest  specific 
gravity.  Seventy-one  pounds  and  a  half  of  quicksilver  is  found  to  bo 
equal  in  bulk  to  a  hundred  pounclsweight  of  gold.  In  the  same  pro 
portion  sixty  of  lead,  fifty-four  of  silver,  forty-seven  of  copper,  forty 
fiv<  of  brass,  forty-two  of  iron,  and  thirty-nine  of  tin,  are  each  equa\ 
to  a  hundred  pounds  of  the  same  most  ponderous  of  all  metals. 

This  method  of  precisely  determining  the  purity  of  gold,  by  weigh- 
ing in  water,  was  first  discovered  by  Archimedes,  to  whom  mankinc 
have  been  indebted  for  many  useful  discoveries.  Hiero,  king  of  Sici 
ly,  having  sent  a  certain  quantity  of  gold  to  be  made  into  a  crowi., 
the  workman,  it  seems,  kept  a  part  for  his  own  use,  and  supplied  the 
deficiency  witli  a  baser  metal.  His  fraud  was  suspected  by  the  king, 
but  could  not  be  detected  ;  till  applying  to  Archimedes,  he  weighed 
the  crown  in  water;  and,  by  this  method,  informed  the  king  of  the 
quantity  of  gold  which  was  taken  away. 

It  has  been  said,  that  all  fluids  endeavour  to  preserve  their  level ; 
and,  likewise,  that  a  body  pressing  on  the  surface,  tended  to  destroy 
that  level.  From  hence,  therefore,  it  will  easily  be  inferred,  that  the 
deeper  any  body  sinks,  the  gre.'.ter  will  be  the  resistance  of  the  de 
pressed  fluid  beneath.  It  will  be  asked,  therefore,  as  the  resistance 
increases  in  proportion  as  the  body  descends,  how  comes  the  body, 
after  it  is  got  a  certain  way,  to  sink  at  all  ?  The  answer  is  obvious. 
From  the  fluid  above  pressing  it  down  with  almost  as  great  a  force  as 
the  fluid  beneath  presses  it  up.  Take  away,  by  any  art,  the  pressure  of 
the  fluid  from  above,  and  let  only  the  resistance  of  the  fluid  from  be- 
low be  suffered  to  act,  and  after  the  body  is  gone  down  very  deep,  the 
resistance  will  be  insuperable.  To  give  an  instance :  a  small  hole 
opens  in  the  bottom  of  a  ship  at  sea,  forty  feet,  we  will  suppose  be- 
low the  surface  of  the  water ;  through  this  the  water  bursts  up  with 
great  violence ;  I  attempt  to  stop  it  with  my  hand,  but  it  pushes  the 
hand  violently  away.  Here  the  hand  is,  in  fact,  a  body  attempting  to 
.sink  upon  water,  at  a  depth  of  forty  feet,  with  the  pressure  from  above 
taken  away.  The  water,  therefore,  will  overcame  my  strength  ;  and 
will  continue  to  burst  in  till  it  has  got  to  its  level  :  if  I  should  then 
dive  into  the  hold,  and  clap  my  hand  upon  the  opening,  as  before,  I 
should  perceive  no  force  acting  against  my  hand  at  all :  for  the  water 
above  presses  the  hand  as  much  down  against  the  hole,  as  the  water 
without  presses  it  upward.  For  this  reason,  also,  when  we  dive  to 
the  bottom  of  the  water,  we  sustain  a  very  great  pressure  from  above, 
it  is  true,  but  it  is  counteracted  by  the  pressure  from  below  ;  and  the 
whole  acting  uniformly  on  the  surface  of  the  body,  wraps  us  close 
round  without  injury. 

As  I  have  deviated  thus  far,  I  will  just  mention  one  or  two  proper- 
ties more,  which  water,  and  all  such  like  fluids,  is  found  to  possess. 
And,  first,  their  ascending  in  vessels  which  are  emptied  of  air,  as  in 
*ui  common  pumps  for  instance.  The  air,  however,  being  the  agent 


THE  EARTH.  s\ 

m  this  case,  we  must  previously  examine  its  prc  perties,  before  we  un- 
dertake the  explanation.  The  other  property  to  be  mentioned  is,  that 
of  their  ascending  in  small  capillary  tubes.  This  is  one  of  the  mos; 
extraordinary  and  inscrutable  appearances  in  nature.  Glass  tubes 
may  be  drawn,  by  means  of  a  lamp,  as  fine  as  a  hair ;  still  preserving 
their  hollow  within.  If  one  of  these  be  planted  in  a  vessel  of  water,  or 
spirit  of  wine,  the  liquor  will  immediately  be  seen  to  ascend  ;  and  it 
•will  rise  higher,  in  proportion  as  the  tube  is  smaller  ;  a  foot,  two  feet, 
and  more.  How  does  this  come  to  pass  ?  Is  the  air  the  cause  ?  No  : 
the  liquor  rises,  although  the  air  be  taken  away.  Is  attraction  the 
cause  ?  No  :  for  quicksilver  does  not  ascend,  which  it  otherwise  would. 
Many  have  been  the  theories  of  experimental  philosophers  to  explain 
this  property.  Such  as  are  fond  of  travelling  in  the  regions  of  conjecture, 
may  consult  Hawksbee,  Morgan,  Jurin,  or  Watson,  who  have  examined 
the  subject  with  great  minuteness.  Hitherto,  however,  nothing  but 
doubts,  instead  of  knowledge,  have  been  the  result  of  their  inquiries. 
It  will  not,  therefore,  become  us  to  enter  into  the  minuteness  of  the 
inquiry,  when  we  have  so  many  great  wonders  to  call  our  attention 
away. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

OP  THE  ORIGIN  OF  RIVERS. 

"  THE  sun  ariseth,  and  the  sun  goeth  down,  and  pants  for  the 
"  place  from  whence  he  arose.  All  things  are  filled  with  labour,  and 
"  man  cannot  utter  it.  All  rivers  run  into  the  sea,  yet  the  sea  is  not 
"  full.  Unto  the  place  whence  the  rivers  come,  thither  they  return 
"  again.  The  eye  is  not  satisfied  with  seeing,  nor  the  ear  with  hear- 
"  ing."*  Thus  speaks  the  wisest  of  the  Jews.  And  at  so  early  a 
period  was  the'  curiosity  of  man  employed  in  observing  these  great 
circulations  of  nature.  Every  eye  attempted  to  explain  those  appear- 
ances ;  and  every  philosopher  who  has  long  thought  upon  the  subject, 
seems  to  give  a  peculiar  solution.  The  inquiry  whence  rivers  are  pro. 
duced  ;  whence  they  derive  those  unceasing  stores  of  water,  which 
continually  enrich  the  world  with  fertility  and  verdure,  has  been  va- 
riously considered,  and  divided  the  opinions  of  mankind  more  than 
any  other  topic  in  natural  history. 

In  this  contest  the  various  champions  may  be  classed  under  two 
leaders.  M.  De  La  Hire,  who  contends  that  rivers  must  be  supplied 
from  the  sea,  strained  through  the  pores  of  the  earth  ;  and  Dr.  Halley, 
ivho  has  endeavoured  to  demonstrate  that  the  clouds  alone  are  suf- 
ficient for  the  supply. — Both  sides  have  brought  in  mathematics  to 
their  aid  ;  and  have  shown  that  long  and  laborious  calculations  can  at 
any  time  be  made  to  obscure  both  sides  of  a  question. 

De  La  Hiret  begins  his  proofs,  that  rain-water,  evaporated  from 
\he  sea,  is  sufficient  for  the  production  of  rivers ;  by  showing,  that 

»  Ecclesiastes,  chap.  i.  5,  7,  8.  t  Hlst.  de  I'Acad.  1713,  p.  56. 

VOL.  1.  F 


82  A  HISTORy  OF 

ram  never  penetrates  the  surface  of  the  earth  above  sixteen  inches. 
From  thencs  he  infers,  that  it  is  impossible  for  it,  in  many  cases,  to 
sink  so  as  to  be  found  at  such  considerable  depths  below.  Rain-wa- 
ter, he  grants,  is  often  seen  to  mix  with  rivers,  and  to  swell  their  cur 
rents  ;  but  a  much  greater  part  of  it  evaporates.  "  In  fact,"  con- 
tinues he,  "  if  we  suppose  the  earth  every  where  covered  with  wa- 
ter, evaporation  alone  would  be  sufficient  to  carry  off  two  feet  nine 
inches  of  it  in  a  year :  and  yet  we  very  well  know,  that  scarce  nine- 
teen inches  of  rain-water  falls  in  that  time;  so  that  evaporation  would 
carry  off  a  much  greater  quantity  than  is  ever  known  to  descend. 
The  small  quantity  of  rain-water  that  falls  is,  therefore,  but  barely 
sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  vegetation.  Two  leaves  of  a  fig-tree 
have  been  found,  by  experiment,  to  imbibe  from  the  earth,  in  five 
hours  and  a  half,  two  ounces  of  water.  This  implies  the  great  quan- 
tity of  fluid  that  must  be  exhausted  in  the  maintenance  of  one  single 
plant.  Add  to  this,  that  the  waters  of  the  river  Rungis  will,  by  cal- 
culation, rise  to  fifty  inches  ;  and  the  whole  country  from  whence  they 
are  supplied  never  receives  fifty  inches  in  the  year  by  rain.  Besides 
this,  there  are  many  salt  springs,  which  are  known  to  proceed  imme- 
diately from  the  sea,  and  are  subject  to  its  flux  and. reflux.  In  short, 
wherever  we  dig  beneath  the  surface  of  the  earth,  except  in  a  very 
few  instances,  water  is  to  be  found  :  and  it  is  by  this  subterraneous 
water,  that  springs  and  rivers,  nay,  a  great  part  of  vegetation  itself,  is 
supported.  It  is  this  subterraneous  water  which  is  raised  into,  steam. 
by  the  internal  heat  of  the  earth,  that  feeds  plants.  It  is  this  subter- 
raneous water  that  distils  through  its  interstices ;  and  there,  cooling, 
forms  fountains.  It  is  this,  that,  by  the  addition  of  rains,  is  increas* 
ed  into  rivers,  and  pours  plenty  over  the  whole  earth." 

On  the  other  side  of  the  question,*  it  is  asserted,  that  the  vapours 
which  are  exhaled  from  the  sea,  and  driven  by  the  winds  upon  land, 
are  more  than  sufficient  to  supply  not  only  plants  with  moisture,  but 
also  to  furnish  a  sufficiency  of  water  to  the  greatest  rivers.  For  this 
purpose,  an  estimate  has  been  made  of  the  quantity  of  water  emptied 
at  the  mouths  of  the  greatest  rivers ;  and  of  the  quantity  also  raised 
from  the  sea  by  evaporation ;  and  it  has  been  found,  that  the  latter 
by  far  exceeds  the  former.  This  calculation  was  made  by  Mr.  Mar- 
riotte.  By  him  it  was  found,  upon  receiving  such  rain  as  fell  in  a  year, 
in  a  proper  vessel  fitted  for  that  purpose,  that,  one  year  with  another, 
there  might  fall  about  twenty  inches  of  water  upon  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  throughout  Europe.  It  was  also  computed  that  the  river  Seine, 
from  its  source  to  the  city  of  Paris,  might  cover  an  extent  of  ground, 
that  would  supply  it  annually  with  above  seven  billions  of  cubic  feet 
of  this  water,  formed  by  evaporation.  But  upon  computing  the  quan- 
tity which  passed  through  the  arches  of  one  of  its  bridges  in  a  year, 
it  was  found  to  amount  only  to  two  hundred  and  eighty  millions  of  cubic 
h;et,  which  is  not  above  the  sixth  part  of  the  former  number.  Hence, 
therefore,  it  appears,  that  this  river  may  receive  a  supply,  brought  to 
it  by  the  evaporated  waters  of  the  sea,  six  times  greater  than  what  it 
gives  back  to  the  sea  by  its  current ;  and  therefore,  evaporation  is  more 

*  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p.  128. 


THE  EARTH.  83 

than  sufficient  for  maintaining  the  greatest  rivers,  and  supplying  the 
purposes  also  of  vegetation. 

In  this  manner  the  sea  supplies  sufficient  humidity  to  the  air  for 
furnishing  the  earth  with  all  necessary  moisture.  One  part  of  its  va- 
pours fall  upon  its  own  bosom,  before  they  arrive  upon  land.  Another 
part  is  arrested  by  the  sides  of  mountains,  and  is  compelled,  bv  t!ir» 
rising  stream  of  air,  to  mount  upward  towards  the  summits.  Here  it  is 
presently  precipitated,  dripping  down  by  the  crannies  of  the  stone. 
In  some  places,  entering  into  the  caverns  of  the  mountain,  it  gathers 
in  those  receptacles,  which  being  once  filled,  all  the  rest  overflows  ; 
and  breaking  out  by  the  sides  of  the  hills,  forms  single  springs.  Many 
of  these  run  down  by  the  valleys,  or  guts,  between  the  ridges  of  the 
mountain,  and,  coming  to  unite,  form  little  rivulets  or  brooks ;  many 
of  these  meeting  in  one  common  valley,  and  gaining  the  plain  ground, 
being  grown  less  rapid,  become  a  river :  and  many  of  these  uniting, 
make  such  vast  bodies  of  water,  as  the  Rhine,  the  Rhone,  and  the 
Danube. 

There  is  still  a  third  part,  which  falls  upon  the  lower  grounds,  and 
furnishes  plants  with  their  wonted  supply.  But  the  circulation  does 
not  rest  even  here  ;  for  it  is  again  exhaled  into  vapour  by  the  action 
of  the  sun  ;  and  afterwards  returned  to  that  great  mass  of  waters 
whence  it  first  arose.  "  This,"  adds  Dr.  Halley,  "  seems  the  most 
reasonable  hypothesis ;  and  much  more  likely  to  be  true,  than  that  of 
those  who  derive  all  springs  from -the  filtering  of  the  sea-waters, 
through  certain  imaginary  tubes  or  passages  within  the  earth  ;  since  it 
is  well  known  that  the  greatest  rivers  have  their  most  copious  foun- 
tains the  most  remote  from  the  sea."* 

This  seems  the  most  general  opinion  ;  and  yet,  after  all,  it  is  still 
pressed  with  great  difficulties  ;  and  there  is  still  room  to  look  out  for 
a  better  theory.  The  perpetuity  of  many  springs,  which  always  yield 
the  same  quantity  when  the  least  rain  or  vapour  is  afforded,  as  well 
as  when  the  greatest,  is  a  strong  objection.  .  Derhamt  mentions,  a 
spring  at  Upminster,  which  he  could  never  perceive  by  his  eye  to  be 
diminished,  in  the  greatest  droughts,  even  when  all  the  ponds  in  the 
country,  as  well  as  an  adjoining  brook,  have  been  dry  for  several  months 
together.  In  the  rainy  seasons,  also,  it  was  never  overflowed  ;  ex- 
cept sometimes,  perhaps,  for  an  hour  or  so,  upon  the  immission  of  the 
external  rains.  He,  therefore,  justly  enough  concludes,  that  had  this 
spring  its  origin  from  rain  or  vapour,  there  would  be  found  an  increase 
or  decrease  of  its  water,  corresponding  to  the  causes  of  its  production. 

Thus  the'  reader,  after*  having  been  tossed  from  one  hypothesis  to 
another,  must  at  last  be  content  to  settle  in  conscious  ignorance.  All 
that  has  been  written  upon  this  subject,  affords  him  rather  something 
to  say,  than  something  to  think  ;  something  rather  for  others  than  for 
himself.  Varenius,  indeed,  although  he  is  at  a  loss  for  the  origin  of 
rivers,  is  by  no  means  so  as  to  their  formation.  He  is  pretty  positive 
that  all  rivers  are  artificial.  He  boldly  asserts,  that  their  channels 
<iave  b^en  originally  formed  by  the  industry  of  man.  His  reasons  aro, 
that  when  a  new  spring  breaks  forth,  the  water  does  not  make  itself  « 

*  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p.  128.  f  Derham  Physico  TheoL 


8*  A   HISTORY  OF 

new  Channel,  but  spreads  over  the  adjacent  land.  "  Thus,"  says  hrv 
*'  mm  are  obliged  to  direct  its  course  ;  or,  otherwise,  Nature  vvould 
never  have  found  one."  He  enumerates  many  rivers  that  art;  cer- 
tainly known,  from  history,  to  have  been  dug  by  men.  He  alleges, 
that  no  salt-water  rivers  are  found,  because  men  did  not  want  salt- 
water ;  and  as  for  salt,  that  was  procurable  at  a  less  expense  than  dig- 
ging a  river  for  it.  However,  it  costs  a  speculative  man  but  a  small 
expense  of  thinking  to  form  such  a  hypothesis.  It  may,  perhaps,  en- 
gross the  reader's  patience  to  detain  him  longer  upon  it. 

Nevertheless,  though  Philosophy  be  thus  ignorant,  as  to  the  pro- 
duction of  rivers,  yet  the  laws  of  their  motion,  and  the  nature  of  their 
currents,  have  been  very  well  explained.  The  Italians  have  particu- 
larly distinguished  themselves  in  this  respect ;  and  it  is  chiefly  to  them 
that  we  are  indebted  for  the  improvement.* 

All  rivers  have  their  source  either  in  mountains,  or  elevated  lakes ; 
and  it  is  in  their  descent  from  these  that  they  acquire  that  velocity 
which  maintains  their  future  current.  At  first  their  course  is  gene- 
rally rapid  and  headlong ;  but  it  is  retarded  in  its  journey,  by  the 
continual  friction  against  its  banks,  by  the  many  obstacles  it  meets  to 
divert  its  stream,  and  by  the  plains  generally  becoming  more  level  as 
it  approaches  towards  the  sea. 

If  this  acquired  velocity  be  quite  spent,  and  the  plain  through  whicb 
the  river  passes  is  entirely  level,  it  will,  notwithstanding,  still  continue 
to  run  from  the  perpendicular  pressure  of  the  water,  which  is  always 
in  exact  proportion  to  the  depth.  This  perpendicular  pressure  is 
nothing  more  than  the  weight  of  the  upper  waters  pressing  the  lower 
out  of  their  places,  and,  consequently,  driving  them  forward,  as  they 
cannot  recede  against  the  stream.  As  this  pressure  is  greatest  in  the 
deepest  parts  of  the  river,  so  we  generally  find  the  middle  of  the 
stream  most  rapid ;  both  because  it  has  the  greatest  motion  thus  com- 
municated by  the  pressure,  and  the  fewest  obstructions  from  the  banks 
an  either  side. 

Rivers  thus  set  into  motion  are  almost  always  found  to  make  their 
own  beds.  Where  they  find  the  bed  elevated,  they  wear  its  substance 
away,  and  deposit  the  sediment  in  the  next  hollow,  so  as  in  time  to 
make  the  bottom  of  their  channels  even.  On  the  other  hand,  the  wa- 
ter is  continually  gnawing  and  eating  away  the  banks  on  each  side  ; 
and  this  with  more  force  as  the  current  happens  to  strike  more  directly 
against  them.  By  these  means  it  always  has  a  tendency  to  render 
them  more  straight  and  parallel  to  its  own  course.  Thus  it  continues 
to  rectify  its  banks,  and  enlarge  its  bed  ;  and,  consequently  to  diminish 
the  force  of  its  stream,  till  there  becomes  an  equilibrium  between  the 
force  of  the  water,  and  the  resistance  of  its  banks,  upon  which  both 
will  remain  without  any  further  mutation.  And  it  is  happy  for  man 
that  bounds  are  thus  put  to  the  erosion  of  the  earth  by  water ;  and 
that  we  find  all  rivers  only  dig  and  widen  themselves  but  to  a  certain 
degree.t 

In  those  plains|  and  large  valleys  where  great  rivers  flow,  the  bed 
nf  the  river  is  usually  lower  than  any  part  of  the  valley.  li"t  t  often 

»  S.  Guglielinini  della  Natura  de  Fiumi,  passim.  f  Ibid 

I  Buffon,  de  Fleuves,  passim,  vol.  ii. 


THE  EARTH,  85 

happens,  that  the  surface  of  the  water  is  higher  than  ma»,y  of  the 
grounds  that  are  adjacent  to  the  banks  of  the  stream.  If,  after  inun- 
dations, we  take  a  view  of  some  rivers,  we  shall  find  their  banks  ap- 
pear above  water,  at  a  time  that  all  the  adjacent  valley  is  overflowed. 
This  proceeds  from  the  frequent  deposition  of  mud,  and  such  like 
substances,  upon  the  banks,  by  the  rivers  frequently  overflowing;  and 
thus,  by  degrees,  they  become  elevated  above  the  plain  ;  and  the  wa- 
ler  is  often  seen  higher  also. 

Rivers,  as  every  body  has  seen,  are  always  broadest  at  the  mouth, 
and  grow  narrower  towards  their  source.  But  what  is  less  known, 
and  probably  more  deserving  curioshy,  is,  that  they  run  in  a  more  di- 
rect channel  as  they  immediately  leave  their  sources ;  and  that  their 
sinuosities  and  turnings  become  more  numerous  as  they  proceed.  It 
is  a  certain  sign  among  the  savages  of  North  America,  that  they  are 
near  the  sea  when  they  find  the  rivers  winding,  and  every  now  and 
then  changing  their  direction.  And  this  is  even  now  become  an  in- 
dication to  the  Europeans  themselves,  in  their  journeys  through  those 
trackless  forests.  As  those  sinuosities,  therefore,  increase  as  the  river 
approaches  the  sea,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  they  sometimes 
divide,  and  thus  disembogue  by  different  channels.  The  Danube  dis- 
embogues into  the  Euxine  by  seven  mouths;  the  Nile  by  the  same 
number ;  and  the  Wolga  by  seventy. 

The  currents*  of  rivers  are  to  be  estimated  very  differently 'from 
the  manner  in  which  those  writers  who  have  given  us  mathematical 
theories  on  this  subject,  represent  them.  They  found  their  calcula- 
tions upon  the  surface  being  a  perfect  plain  from  one  bank  to  the  other  : 
but  this  is  not  the  actual  state  of  nature ;  for  rivers,  in  general,  rise 
in  the  middle ;  and  this  convexity  is  greatest  in  proportion  as  the  ra- 
pidity of  the  stream  is  greater.  Any  person  to  be  convinced  of  this, 
need  only  lay  his  eye,  as  nearly  as  he  can,  on  a  level  with  the  stream, 
and  looking  across  to  the  opposite  bank,  he  will  perceive  the  river  in 
the  midst  to  be  elevated  considerably  above  what  it  is  at  the  edges. 
This  rising,  in  some  rivers,  is  often  found  to  be  three  feet  high  ;  and 
is  ever  increased  in  proportion  to  the  rapidity  of  the  stream.  In  this 
case,  the  water  in  the  midst  of  the  current  loses  a  part  of  its  weight, 
from  the  velocity  of  its  motion  ;  while  that  at  the  sides,  for  the  con- 
trary reason,  sinks  lower.  It  sometimes,  however,  happens,  that  this 
appearance  is  reversed  ;  for  when  tides  are  found  to  flow  up  with  vi- 
olence Hgainst  the  natural  current  of  the  water,  the  greatest  rapidity  is 
then  found  at  the  sides  of  the  river,  as  the  water  there  least  resists  the 
influx  from  the  sea.  On  those  occasions,  therefore,  the  river  presents 
a  concave  rather  than  a  convex  surface ;  and,  as  in  the  former  case, 
the  middle  waters  rose  in  a  ridge,  in  this  case  they  sink  in  a  fur- 
row. 

The  stream  of  all  rivers  is  more  rapid  in  proportion  as  its  channe) 
is  diminished.  For  instance,  it  will  be  much  swifter  where  it  is  ten 
yards  broad,  than  where  it  is  twenty ;  for  the  force  behind  still  push- 
ing the  water  forward,  when  it  comes  to  the  narrow  pait,  it  musi 
make  up  by  velocity  what  it  wants  In  room. 

»  Rufibn.  de  Fleuves,  passim,  vol.  ii 


56  A  HISTORY  OF 

It  often  liappons  that  the  stream  of  a  river  is  opposed  by  on& 
of  its  jutting  banks,  by  an  island  in  the  midst,  the  arches  of  a 
bridge,  or  some  such  obstacle.  This  produces  not  unfrequently  a 
back  current ;  and  the  water  having  passed  the  arch  with  great  ve- 
locity, pushes  the  water  on  each  side  of  its  direct  current.  This  pro- 
duces a  side  current,  tending  to  the  bank ;  and  not  unfrequently  a 
whirlpool ;  in  which  a  large  body  of  waters  are  circulated  in  a  kind 
of  cavity,  sinking  down  in  the  middle.  The  central  point  of  the 
whirlpool  is  always  lowest,  because  it  has  the  least  motion  :  the  other 
parts  are  supported,  in  some  measure,  by  the  violence  of  theirs,  and 
consequently  rise  higher,  as  their  motion  is  greater ;  so  that  towards 
the  extremity  of  the  whirlpool  must  be  higher,  than  towards  the 
centre. 

If  the  stream  of  a  river  be  stopped  at  the  surface,  and  yet  be 
free  below ;  for  instance,  if  it  be  laid  over  by  a  bridge  of  boats, 
there  will  then  be  a  double  current  ;  the  water  at  the  surface  will 
flow  back,  while  that  at  the  bottom  will  proceed  with  increased  ve- 
locity. It  often  happens  that  the  current  at  the  bottom  is  swifter  than 
at  the  top,  when  upon  violent  land-floods,  the  weight  of  waters  toward 
the  source,  presses  the  waters  at  the  bottom,  before  it  has  had  time  to 
communicate  its  motion  to  the  surface.  However,  in  all  other  cases, 
the  surface  of  the  stream  is  swifter  than  the  bottom,  as  it  is  not  re- 
tarded by  rubbing  over  the  bed  of  the  river. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  bridges,  dams,  and  other  obstacles  in  the 
current  of  a  river,  would  retard  its  velocity.  But  the  difference  they 
make  is  very  inconsiderable.  The  water,  by  these  stoppages,  gets  an 
elevation  above  the  object ;  which,  when  it  has  surmounted,  it  gives 
a  velocity  that  recompenses  the  former  delay.  Islands  and  turnings 
also  retard  the  course  of  the  stream  but  very  inconsiderably ;  any 
cause  which  diminishes  the  quantity  of  the  water,  most  sensibly  di- 
minishes the  force  and  the  velocity  of  the  stream. 

An  increase*  of  water  in  the  bed  of  the  river  always  increases  its 
rapidity  ;  except  in  cases  of  inundation.  The  instant  the  river  has 
overflowed  its  banks,  the  velocity  of  its  current  is  always  turned  that 
way,  and  the  inundation  is  perceived  to  continue  for  some  days; 
which  it  would  not  otherwise  do,  if,  as  soon  as  the  cause  was  discon- 
tinued, it  acquired  its  former  rapidity. 

A  violent  storm,  that  sets  directly  up  against  the  course  of  the 
stream,  will  always  retard,  and  sometimes  entirely  stop  its  course. 
I  have  seen  an  instance  of  this,  when  the  bed  of  a  large  river  was  left 
entirely  dry  for  some  hours,  and  fish  were  caught  among  the  stones  at 
the  bottom. 

Inundations  are  generally  greater  towards  the  source  of  rivers  than 
farther  down  ;  because  the  current  is  generally  swifter  below  than 
above  ;  and  that  for  the  reasons  already  assigned. 

A  little  rivert  may  be  received  into  a  large  one,  \vithout  augment- 
ing either  its  width  or  depth.  This,  which  at  first  view  seems  a  para- 
dox, is  yet  very  easily  accounted  for.  The  little  river,  in  this  case, 
only  goes  towards  increasing  the  swiftness  of  the  largei,  aruj  putting 

«  ?.uf!bn,  vol.  li.  p.  62.  t  Guglifl'mini 


THE   EARTH.  8? 

its  dormant  waters  into  motion.  In  this  manner  the  \onetian  branch 
of  the  Po  was  pushed  on  by  the  Ferarese  branch  and  that  of  Panaro, 
without  any  enlargement  of  its  breadth  or  depth  from  these  acces- 
sions. 

A  river  tending  to  enter  another,  ^either  perpendicularly,  01  in  ai» 
opposite  direction,  will  be  diverted  by  degrees  from  that  direction  ; 
and  lie  obliged  to  make  itself  a  more  favourable  entrance  downward, 
md  more  conspiring  with  the  stream  of  the  former. 

The  union  of  two  rivers  into  one,  makes  it  flow  the  swifter :  since 
the  same  quantity  of  water,  instead  of  rubbing  against  four  shores, 
now  only  rubs  against  two. — And,  besides,  the  current  being  deeper, 
becomes,  of  consequence,  more  fitted  for  motion. 

With  respect  to  the  places  from  whence  rivers  proceed,  it  may  be 
taken  for  a  general  rule,  that  the  largest*  and  highest  mountains  sup- 
ply the  greatest  and  most  extensive  rivers.  It  may  be  also  remarked, 
iu  whatever  direction  the  ridge  of  the  mountain  runs,  the  river  takes 
an  opposite  course.  If  the  mountain,  for  instance,  stretches  from 
north  to  south,  the  river  runs  from  east  to  west ;  and  so  contrariwise. 
These  are  some  of  the  most  generally  received  opinions  with  regard 
to  the  course  of  rivers  ;  however,  they  are  liable  to  many  excep- 
tions ;  and  nothing  but  an  actual  knowledge  of  each  particular  river 
can  furnish  us  with  an  exact  theory  of  its  current. 

The  largest  rivers  of  Europe  are,  first,  the  Wolga,  which  is  about 
six  hundred  and  fifty  leagues  in  length,  extending  from  Reschow  to 
Astrachan.  It  is  remarkable  of  this  river,  that  it  abounds  with  water 
during  the  summer  months  of  May  and  June ;  but  all  the  rest  of  the 
year  is  so  shallow  as  scarce  to  cover  its  bottom,  or  allow  a  passage 
for  loaded  vessels  that  trade  up  its  stream.  It  was  up  this  river  that 
the  English  attempted  to  trade  into  Persia,  in  which  they  were  so  un- 
happily disappointed,  in  the  year  1741.  The  next  in  order  is  the 
Danube.  The  course  of  this  is  but  about  four  hundred  and  fifty 
leagues,  from  tlie  mountains  of  Switzerland  to  the  Black  Sea.  It  is 
so  deep  between  Buda  and  Belgrade,  that  the  Turks  and  Christians 
have  fleets  of  men  of  war  upon  it ;  which  frequently  engaged,  during 
the  last  war  between  the  Ottomans  and  the  Austrians ;  however,  it  is 
unnavigable  further  down,  by  reason  of  its  cataracts,  which  prevent 
its  commerce  into  the  Black  Sea.  The  Don,  or  Tanais,  which  is 
four  hundred  leagues  from  the  source  of  that  branch  of  it  called  the 
Softna,  to  its  mouth  in  the  Euxine  Sea.  In  one  part  of  its  course,  it 
approaches  near  the  Wolga ;  and  Peter  the  Great  had  actually  begun 
a  canal,  by  which  he  intended  joining  those  two  rivers  ;  but  this  he 
did  not  live  to  finish.  The  Nieper,  or  Boristhenes,  which  rises  in  the 
middle  of  Muscovy,  and  runs  a  course  of  three  hundred  and  fifty 
leagues,  to  empty  itself  into  the  Black  Sea.  The  Old  Cossacks  inhabit 
the  banks  and  islands  of  this  river;  and  frequently  cross  the  Black 
Sea,  to  plunder  the  maritime  places  on  the  coasts  of  Turkey.  The 
Dwina ;  which  takes  its  rise  in  a  province  of  the  same  name  in  Rus- 
^sia,  that  runs  a  course  of  three  hundred  leagues,  and  disembogues  in 
to  the  White  Sea,  a  little  below  Archangel. 

*  Dr.  Hallev. 


f*  A  HISTORY  OF 

T*}e  argest  rivers  of  Asia  are,  the  Hoanho,  in  China,  which  is  eight 
h  indred  and  fifty  leagues  in  length,  computing  from  its  source  at  Ra- 
j*  Ribron,  to  its  mouth  in  the  Gulf  of  Changi.  The  Jenisca  of  Tar- 
tbcy,  about  eight  hundred  leagues  in  length,  from  the  lake  Selinga,  to 
ti>«  Icy  Sea.  This  river  is,  by  some,  supposed  to  supply  most  of  that 
gr»«at  quantity  of  drift  wood  which  is  seen  floating  in  the  seas,  near  the 
Ai  v;tic  circle.  The  Oby,  of  five  hundred  leagues,  running  from  the  hike 
of  Kila  into  the  Northern  Sea.  The  Amour,  in  Eastern  Tartary, 
wb  ise  course  is  about  five  hundred  and  seventy-five  leagues,  from  its 
source  to  its  entrance  into  the  sea  of  Kamtschatka.  The  Kiam,  in 
China,  five  hundred  and  fifty  leagues  in  length.  The  Ganges,  one  of 
the  most  noted  rivers  in  the  world,  and  about  us  long  as  the  former. 
It  rises  in  the  mountains  which  separate  India  from  Tartary ;  and 
running  through  the  dominions  of  the  Great  Mogul,  discharges  itself 
by  several  mouths  into  the  bay  of  Bengal.  It  is  not  only  esteemed 
by  the  Indians  for  the  depth  and  pureness  of  its  stream,  but  for  a  sup- 
posed sanctity  which  they  believe  to  be  in  its  waters.  It  is  visited 
annually  by  several  hundred  thousand  pilgrims,  who  pay  their  devo- 
tions to  the  river  as  to  a  god  :  for  savage  simplicity  is  always  known  to 
mistake  the  blessings  of  the  Deity,  for  the  Deity  himself.  They  car- 
ry their  dying  friends  from  distant  countries,  to  expire  on  its  banks  ; 
and  to  be  buried  in  its  stream.  The  water  is  lowest  in  April  or  May  ; 
but  the  rains  beginning  to  fall  soon  after,  the  flat  country  is  overflow- 
ed for  several  miles,  till  about  the  end  of  September  ;  the  waters  then 
begin  to  retire,  leaving  a  prolific  sediment  behind,  that  enriches  the 
soil,  and,  in  a  few  days'  time,  gives  a  luxuriance  to  vegetation,  beyond 
what  can  be  conceived  by  a  European.  Next  to  this  may  be  reckon- 
ed the  still  more  celebrated  river  Euphrates.  This  rises  from  two 
sources,  northward  of  the  city  Erzerum,  in  Turcomania,  and  unites 
about  three  days' journey  below  the  same,  from  whence,  after  per- 
forming a  course  of  five  hundred  leagues,  it  falls  into  the  gulf  of  Per- 
sia, fifty  miles  below  the  city  of  Bassora  in  Arabia.  The  river  Indus 
is  extended  from  its  source  to' its  discharge  into  the  Arabian  Sea,  four 
hundred  leagues. 

The  largest  rivers  of  Africa  are,  the  Senegal,  which  runs  a  course 
of  not  less  than  eleven  hundred  leagues,  comprehending  the  Niger, 
which  some  have  supposed  to  fall  into  it.  However,  later  accounts 
seem  to  affirm  that  the  Niger  is  lost  in  the  sands,  about  three  hundred 
miles  up  from  the  western  coasts  of  Africa.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the 
Senegal  is  well  known  to  be  navigable  for  more  than  three  hundred 
leagues  up  the  country  ;  and  how  much  higher  it  may  reach  is  not  vet 
discovered,  as  the  dreadful  fatality  of  the  inland  parts  of  Africa,  not 
only  deters  curiosity,  but  even  avarice,  which  is  a  much  stronger  pas- 
sion. At  the  end  of  last  war,  of  fifty  Englishmen  that  were  sent  to 
the  factory  at  Galam,  a  place  taken  from  the  French,  and  nine  hun- 
dred miles  up  the  river,  only  one  returned  to  tell  the  fate  of  his  com- 
panions, who  were  destroyed  by  the  climate.  The  celebrated  rivei 
Nile  is  said  to  be  nine  hundred  and  seventy  leagues,  from  its  source' 
among  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  in  Upper  ./Ethiopia,  to  its  opening 
into  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  The  sources  of  this  river  were  con- 
sidered as  inscrutable  by  the  ancients;  and  the  causes  ofity  jieriodi 


THE  EARTH.  83 


ca.  inundation  were  equally  unknown.  They  have  both  bebd  ascer 
tained  by  the  missionaries  who  have  travelled  into  the  interior  parti 
of  Ethiopia.  The  Nile  takes  its  rise  in  the  kingdom  of  Gojam,* 
from  a  small  aperture  on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  which,  though  not 
above  a  foot  and  a  half  over,  yet  was  unfathomable.  This  fountain, 
when  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  expands  into  a  river  ; 
and  being  joined  by  others,  forms  a  lake  thirty  leagues  long,  and  as* 
many  broad  ;  from  this,  its  channel,  in  some  measure,  winds  back  to 
the  country  where  it  first  began  ;  from  thence,  precipitating  by  fright- 
ful cataracts,  it  travels  through  a  variety  of  desert  regions,  equally 
formidable,  such  as  Amhara,  Olaca,  Damot,  and  Xaoa.  Upon  its  ar- 
rival in  the  kingdom  of  Upper  Egypt,  it  runs  through  a  rocky  chan- 
nel, which  some  late  travellers  have  mistaken  for  its  cataracts.  In 
the  beginning  of  its  course,  it  receives  many  lesser  rivers  into  it  ;  and 
Pliny  was  mistaken,  in  saying  that  it  received  none.  In  the  begin- 
ning also  of  its  course,  it  has  many  windings  ;  but,  for  above  three 
hundred  leagues  from  the  sea,  it  runs  in  a  direct  line.  Its  annual 
overflowings  arise  from  a  very  obvious  cause,  which  is  almost  universal 
with  the  great  rivers  that  take  their  source  near  the  line.  The  rainy 
season,  which  is  periodical  in  those  climates,  floods  the  rivers  ;  and 
as  this  always  happens  in  our  summer,  so  the  Nile  is  at  that  time  over- 
flown. From  these  inundations,  the  inhabitants  of  Egypt  derive  hap- 
piness and  plenty  ;  and,  when  the  river  does  not  arise  to  its  accus- 
tomed heights,  they  prepare  for  an  indifferent  harvest.  It  begins  to 
overflow  about  the  seventeenth  of  June;  it  generally  continues  to 
augment  for  forty  days,  and  decreases  in  about  as  many  more.  The 
time  of  increase  and  decrease,  however,  is  much  more  inconsiderable 
now  than  it  was  among  the  ancients.  Herodotus  informs  us,  that  it 
was  a  hundred  days  rising,  and  as  many  falling  ;  which  shows  that  the 
inundation  was  much  greater  at  that  time  than  at  present.  Mr.  Buf- 
font  has  ascribed  the  present  diminution,  as  well  to  the  lessening  of 
the  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  by  their  substance  having  so  long  been 
washed  down  with  the  stream,  as  to  the  rising  of  the  earth  in  Egypt, 
that  has  for  so  many  ages  received  this  extraneous  supply.  But  we 
do  not  find,  by  the  buildings  that  have  remained  since  the  times  of  the 
ancients,  that  the  earth  is  much  raised  since  then.  Besides  the  Nile 
in  Africa,  we  may  reckon  the  Zara,  and  the  Coanza,  from  the  great- 
ness of  whose  openings  into  the  sea,  and  the  rapidity  of  whose  streams, 
we  form  an  estimate  of  the  great  distance  from  whence  they  come. 
Their  courses,  however,  are  spent  in  watering  deserts  and  savage 
countries,  whose  poverty  or  fierceness  have  kept  strangers  away. 

But  of  all  parts  of  the  world,  America,  as  it  exhibits  the  most  lofty 
mountains,  so  also  it  supplies  the  largest  rivers.  The  foremost  of 
these  is  the  great  river  Amazon,  which,  from  its  source  in  the  lake  of 
Lauricocha,  to  its  discharge  into  the  Western  Ocean,  performs  a 
rourse  of  more  than  twelve  hundred  leagues.^  The  breadth  and  depth 
of  this  river  are  answerable  to  Its  vast  length  ;  and,  where  its  width  is 
most  contracted,  its  depth  is  augmented  in  proportion.  So  great  is 
die  body  of  its  waters,  that  other  rivers,  though  before  the  objects  of 

*  Kircher  Mundt.  Subt.  vol.  ii.  p.  72.     f  Buffon,  vol.  ii.  p.  82.      J  Ulloa,  v"l.  1.  p.  383 


90  A  HISTORY  OF 

admiration,  are  lost  in  its  bosom.  It  proceeds,  after  their  junction, 
with  its  usual  appearance,  without  any  visible  change  in  its  breadth 
or  rapidity  ;  and,  if  we  may  so  express  it,  remains  great  without  os- 
tentation. In  some  places  it  displays  its  whole  magnificence,  dividing 
into  several  large  branches,  and  encompassing  a  multitude  of  islands ; 
and,  at  length,  discharges  itself  into  the  ocean,  by  a  channel  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  broad.  Another  river,  that  may  almost  rival 
the  former,  is  the  St.  Lawrence,  in  Canada,  which  rising  in  the  lake 
Assiniboils,  passes  from  one  lake  to  another,  from  Christineaux  to 
Alempigo  ;  from  thence  to  lake  Superior  ;  thence  to  the  lake  Hu- 
rons ;  to  lake  Erie ;  to  lake  Ontario ;  and,  at  last,  after  a  course  of 
nine  hundred  leagues,  pours  their  collected  waters  into  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  The  river  Mississippi  is  of  more  than  seven  hundred  leagues 
in  length,  beginning  at  its  source  near  the  lake  Assiniboils,  and  end- 
ing at  its  opening  into  the  gulf  of  Mexico.  The  river  Plate  runs  a 
length  of  more  than  eight  hundred  leagues  from  its  source  in  the  river 
Parana,  to  its  mouth.  The  river  Oroonoko  is  seven  hundred  and  fif- 
ty-five leagues  in  length,  from  its  source  near  Pasto,  to  its  discharge 
into  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

Such-is  the  amazing  length  of  the  greatest  rivers  ;  and  even  in  some 
of  these,  the  most  remote  sources  very  probably  yet  continue  un- 
known. In  fact,  if  we  consider  the  number  of  rivers  which  they  re- 
ceive, and  the  little  acquaintance  we  have  with  the  regions  through 
which  they  run,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  geographers  are  di- 
vided concerning  the  sources  of  most  of  them.  As  among  a  number 
of  roots  by  which  nourishment  is  conveyed  to  a  stately  tree,  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  determine  precisely  that  by  which  the  tree  is  chiefly  suppli- 
ed ;  so  among  the  many  branches  of  a  great  river,  it  is  equally  diffi- 
cult to  tell  which  is  the  original.  Hence  it  may  easily  happen, 
that  a  smaller  branch  is  taken  for  the  capital  stream  ;  and  its  runnings 
are  pursued,  and  delineated,  in  prejudice  of  some  other  branch  that 
better  deserved  the  na'me  and  the  description.  In  this  manner*  in 
Europe,  the  Danube  is  known  to  receive  thirty  lesser  rivers:  the 
Wolga,  thirty-two  or  thirty-three.  In  Asia,  the  Hohano  receives 
thirty-five  ;  the  Jenisca  above  sixty  ;  the  Oby  as  many ;  the  Amour 
about  forty ;  the  Nanquin  receives  thirty  rivers ;  the  Ganges  twen- 
ty ;  and  the  Euphrates  about  eleven.  In  Africa,  the  Senegal  receives 
more  than  twenty  rivers  ;  the  Nile  receives  not  one  for  five  hundred 
leagues  upwards,  and  then  only  twelve  or  thirteen.  In  America,  the 
river  Amazon  receives  above  sixty,  and  those  very  considerable  ; 
»he  river  St.  Lawrence  about  forty,  counting  those  which  fall  into  its 
lakes  ;  the  Mississippi  receives  forty  ;  and  the  river  Plate  above  fifty. 

I  mentioned  the  inundations  of  the  Ganges  and  the  Nile,  but  almost 
every  other  great  river  whose  source  lies  within  the  tropics,  have 
their  stated  inundations  also.  The  river  Pegu  has  been  called,  by 
tra\  oilers,  the  Indian  Nile,  because  of^the  similar  overflowings  of  its 
stream  :  this  it  does  to  an  extent  of  thirty  leagues  on  each  side  :  and 
«o  fei  tilizes  the  soil,  that  the  inhabitants  send  great  quantities  of  rice 
into  other  countries,  and  have  still  abundance  for  their  own  CMHSI  mp- 

*  Ruffon,  vol.  li.  p.  74. 


THE  EATTF.  91 

tion.  The  river  Senegal  has  likewise  its  inimr'ations,  which  cover 
the  whole  flat  country  of  Negroland,  beginnhi?  and  ending  mucb 
about  the  same  time  with  those  of  the  Nile  •  as,  in  fact,  both  rivers 
rise  from  the  same  mountains.  But  the  difference  between  the  effects 
of  the  inundations  in  each  river  is  remarkable :  in  the  one,  it  distributes 
health  and  plenty  :  in  the  other,  diseases,  famine,  and  death.  The 
inhabitants  along  the  torrid  coasts  of  the  Senegal,  can  receive  no  bene- 
4t  from  any  additional  manure  the  river  may  carry  down  to  their  soil, 
which  is  by  nature  more  than  sufficiently  luxuriant;  or,  even  if  they 
fould  thev  have  not  industry  to  turn  it  to  any  advantage.  The  banks, 
therefore,  of  the  river,  lie  uncultivated,  overgrown  with  rank  and 
uoxious  herbage,  and  infested  with  thousands  of  animals  of  various 
malignity.  Everv  new  flood  only  ttmds  to  increase  the  rankness  oi 
the  soil,  and  to  provide  fresh  shelter  for  the  creatures  that  infest  it. 
if  the  flood  continues  but  a  few  days  longer  than  usual,  the  improvi- 
dent inhabitants,  who  are  driven  up  in  the  higher  grounds,  want  pro- 
visions, and  a  famine  ensues.  When  the  river  begins  to  return  into 
its  channel,  the  humidity  and  heat  of  the  air  are  equally  fatal ;  and 
the  carcasses  of  infinite  numbers  of  animals,  swept  away  by  the 
inundation,  putrefying  in  the  sun,  produce  a  stench  that  is  almost 
insupportable.  But  even  the  luxuriance  of  the  vegetation  becomes  a 
nuisance.  I  have  been  assured,  by  persons  of  veracity  who  have 
been  UD  the  river  Senegal,  that  there  are  some  plants  growing  along 
the  coast,  the  smell  of  which  is  so  powerful,  that  it  is  hardly  to  be 
endured.  It  is  certain,  that  all  the  sailors  and  soldiers  who  have  been 
at  any  oi  our  factories  there,  ascribe  the  unwholesomeness  of  the 
voyage  up  the  stream,  to  the  vegetable  vapour.  However  this  be,  the 
inundations  of  the  rivers  in  this  wretched  part  of  the  globe,  contribute 
scarce  any  advantage,  if  we  except  the  beauty  of  the  prospects  which 
they  afford.  These,  indeed,  are  finished  beyond  the  utmost  reach  of 
art :  a  spacious  glassy  river,  with  its  banks  here  and  there  fringed  to 
the  very  surface  by  the  mangrove-tree,  that  grows  down  into  the  wa- 
ter, presents  itself  to  view  ;  lofty  forests  of  various  colours,  with 
openings  between,  carpeted  with  green  plants,  and  the  most  gaudy 
flowers ;  beasts  and  animals,  of  various  kinds,  that  stand  upon  the 
banks  of  the  river,  and,  with  a  sort  of  wild  curiosity,  survey  the  mari- 
ners as  they  pass,  contribute  to  heighten  the  scene.  This  is  the 
sketch  of  an  African  prospect ;  which  delights  the  eye,  even  while  it 
destroys  the  constitution. 

Besides  these  annually  periodical  inundations,  there  are  many  rivers 
that  overflow  at  much  shorter  intervals.  Thus  most  of  those  in  Peru  and 
Chili  have  scarce  any  motion  by  night ;  but  upon  the  appearance  of  the 
morning  sun,  they  resume  their  former  rapidity;  this  proceeds  from 
the  mountain  snows',  which  melting  with  the  heat,  increase  the  stream, 
and  continue  to  drive  on  the  current  while  the  sun  continues  to  dis- 
solve them.  Some  rivers  also  flow  with  an  even  steady  current,  from 
their  source  to  the  sea ;  others  flow  with  greater  rapidity,  their  stream 
being  poured  down  in  a  cataract,  or  swallowed  by  the  sands,  before 
they  reach  the  sea. 

The  rivers  of  those  countries  that  have  been  least  inhabited,  are 
usually  more  rocky,  uneven,  and  broken  into  water-falls  or  cataracts* 


iW  A  HISTORY  OF 

Chart  those  where  the  industry  of  man  has  been  more  prevalent. 
Wherever  man  comes,  nature  puts  on  a  milder  appearance :  the  ter- 
rible and  the  sublime,  are  exchanged  for  the  gentle  and  the  useful  ; 
the  cataract  is  sloped  away  into  a  placid  stream  ;  and  the  banks  be- 
come more  smooth  and  even.*  It  must  have  required  ages  to  render 
the  Rhone  or  the  Loire  navigable  :  their  beds  must  have  been  clean- 
ed and  directed  ;  their  inequalities  removed  ;  and  by  a  long  course  of 
industry,  Nature  must  have  been  taught  to  conspire  with  the  desires 
of  her  controller.  Every  one's  experience  must  have  supplied  in- 
stances of  rivers  thus  being  made  to  flow  more  evenly,  and  more  bene- 
ficially to  mankind ;  but  there  are  some  whose  currents  are  so  rapid, 
and  falls  so  precipitate,  that  no  art  can  obviate ;  and  that  must  for 
ever  remain  as  amazing  instances  of  incorrigible  Nature. 

Of  this  kind  are  the  cataracts  of  the  Rhine  ;  one  of  which  I  have 
seen  exhibit  a  very  strange  appearance ;  it  was  that  at  Schaffhausen, 
which  was  frozen  quite  across,  and  the  water  stood  in  columns  where 
the  cataract  had  formerly  fallen.  The  Nile,  as  was  said,  has  its  cata- 
racts. The  river  Vologda,  in  Russia,  has  two.  The  river  Zara,  in 
Africa,  has  one  near  its  source.  The  river  Velino,  in  Italy,  has  a 
cataract  of  above  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  perpendicular.  Near  the 
city  of  Gottenburgh,t  in  Sweden,  the  river  rushes  down  from  a  pro- 
digious high  precipice,  into  a  deep  pit,  with  a  terrible  noise,  and  such 
dreadful  force,  that  those  trees  designed  for  the  masts  of  ships,  which 
are  floated  down  the  river,  are  usually  turned  upside  down  in  their 
fall,  and  often  are  shattered  to  pieces,  by  being  dashed  against  the 
surface  of  the  water  in  the  pit ;  this  occurs  if  the  masts  fall  sideways 
upon  the  water ;  but  if  they  fall  endways,  they  dive  so  far  under  wa- 
ter, that  they  disappear  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  or  more  :  the  pit,  in- 
to which  they  are  thus  plunged,  has  been  often  sounded  with  a  line  of 
some  hundred  fathoms  long,  but  no  ground  has  been  found  hitherto. 
There  is  also  a  cataract  at  Powerscourt,  in  Ireland,  in  which,  if  I  am 
rightly  informed,  the  water  falls  three  hundred  feet  perpendicular ; 
which  is  a  greater  descent  than  that  of  any  other  cataract  in  any  part 
of  the  world.  There  is  a  cataract  at  Albany,  in  the  province  of  New- 
York,  which  pours  its  stream  fifty  feet  perpendicular.  But  of  all  the 
cataracts  in  the  world,  that  of  Niagara,  in  Canada,  if  we  consider  the 
great  body  of  water  that  falls,  must  be  allowed  to  be  the  greatest,  and 
the  most  astonishing. 

This  amazing  fall  of  water  is  made  by  the  river  St.  Lawrence,  in 
its  passage  from  the  lake  Erie  into  the  lake  Ontario.  We  have  al- 
ready said  that  the  St.  Lawrence  was  one  of  the  largest  rivers  in  tht 
world  ;  and  yet  the  whole  of  its  waters  are  here  poured  down,  by  a 
fall  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  perpendicular.  It  is  not  easy  to  bring 
the  imagination  to  correspond  with  the  greatness  of  the  scene;  a  river, 
extremely  deep  and  rapid,  and  that  serves  to  drain  the  waters  of  al- 
most all  North  America  into  the  Atlantic  ocean,  is  here  poured  pre- 
cipitately down  a  ledge  of  rocks,  that  rise,  like  a  wall,  across  the  whole 
oed  of  its  stream.  The  width  of  the  river  a  little  above,  is  near  three 
fjuarters  of  a  mile  broad  ;  and  the  rocks,  where  it  grows  narrower, 

*  Buffon,  voL  ti.  p.  90.  t  Phil-  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p.  3?S. 


THE  EARTH  .93 

are  four  hundred  yards  over.  Their  direction  is  not  straight  across, 
But  hollowing  inwards  like  a  horse-shoe;  so  that  the  cataract,  which 
oends  to  the  shape  of  the  obstacle, rounding  inwards,  presents  a  kind 
of  theatre  the  most  tremendous  in  nature.  Just  in  the  middle  of  this 
circular  wall  of  waters,  a  little  island,  that  has  braved  the  fury  of  the 
current,  presents  one  of  its  points,  and  divides  the  stream  at  top  into 
(\vo ;  but  it  unites  again  long  before  it  has  got  to  the  bottom.  The 
noise  of  the  fall  is  heard  at  several  leagues  distance ;  and  the  fury  of 
the  waters  at  the  bottom  of  their  fall  is  inconceivable.  The  dashing 
produces  a  mist  that  rises  to  the  very  clouds ;  and  that  produces  a 
most  beautiful  rainbow,  when  the  sun  shines.  It  may  easily  be  con- 
ceived, that  such  a  cataract  quite  destroys  the  navigation  of  the 
stream ;  and  yet  some  Indian  canoes,  as  it  is  said,  have  been  known 
to  venture  down  it  with  safety. 

Of  those  rivers  that  lose  themselves  in  the  sands,  or  are  swallowed 
up  by  chasms  in  the  earth,  we  have  various  information.  What  we 
are  told  by  the  ancients,  of  the  Alpheus,  in  Arcadia,  that  sinks  into 
the  ground,  and  rises  again  near  Syracuse  in  Sicily,  where  it  takes  the 
name  of  Arethusa,  is  rather  more  known  than  credited.  But  we  have 
better  information  with  respect  to  the  river  Tigris  being  lost  in  this 
manner  under  mount  Taurus ;  of  the  Guadalquiver  in  Spain,  being 
buried  in  the  sands  ;  of  the  river  Grcatah,  in  Yorkshire,  running 
under  ground,  and  rising  again ;  and  even  of  the  great  Rhine  itself,  a 
part  of  which  is  no  doubt  lost  in  the  sands,  a  little  above  Leyden.  But 
it  ought  to  be  observed  of  this  river,  that  by  much  the  greatest  part 
arrives  at  the  ocean  ;  for,  although  the  ancient  channel  which  fell  into 
the  sea,  a  little  to  the  west  of  that  city,  be  now  entirely  choakcd  up, 
yet  there  are  still  a  number  of  small  canals,  that  carry  a  great  body  of 
waters  to  the  sea ;  and,  besides,  it  has  also  two  very  large  openings, 
the  Lech,  and  the  Waal,  below  Rotterdam,  by  which  it  empties  itself 
abundantly. 

Be  this  as  it  will,  nothing  is  more  common  in  sultry  and  sandy 
deserts,  than  rivers  being  thus  either  lost  in  the  sands,  or  entirely  dried 
up  by  the  sun.  And  hence  we  see,  that  under  the  line,  the  small 
rivers  are  but  few ;  for  such  little  streams  as  are  common  in  Europe,  and 
which  with  us  receive  the  name  of  rivers,  would  quickly  evaporate,  in 
those  parching  and  extensive  deserts.  It  is  even  confidently  asserted, 
that  the  great  river  Niger  is  thus  lost  before  it  reaches  the  ocean  ;  and 
that  its  supposed  mouths,  the  Gambia  and  the  Senegal,  are  distinct 
rivers,  that  come  a  vast  way  from  the  interior  parts  of  the  country. 
It  appears,"  therefore,  that  the  rivers  under  the  line  are  large  ;  but  it  is 
otherwise  at  the  poles,*  where  they  must  necessarily  be  small.  In 
that  desolate  region,  as  the  mountains  are  covered  with  perpetual  ice. 
which  melts  but  little,  or  not  at  all,  the  springs  and  rivulets  are  fur- 
nished with  a  very  small  supply.  Here,  therefore,  men  and  beasts 
would  perish,  and  die  for  thirst,  if  Providence  had  not  ordered,  that 
in  the  hardest  winter,  thaws  should  intervene,  which  deposit  a  small 
quantity  of  snow-water  in  pools  under  the  ice  ;  and  from  this  source 
the  wretched  inhabitants  drain  a  scanty  beverage. 

*  f'rantz's  History  of  Greenland,  vol.  i.  p.  4J 


94  A  HISTORY  OF 

Thus,  whatever  quarter  of  the  globe  we  turn  to,  we  snail  find  new 
reasons  to  be  satisfied  with  that  part  of  it  in  .vhich  we  reside.  Our 
rivers  furnish  all  the  plenty  of  the  African  stream,  without  its  inun- 
dation ;  they  have  all  the  coolness  of  the  polar  rivulet,  with  a  more 
constant  supply ;  they  may  want  the  terrible  magnificence  of  huge 
cataracts,  or  extensive  lakes,  but  they  are  more  navigable,  and  more 
transparent;  though  less  deep  and  rapid  than  the  rivers  of  the  torrid 
zone,  they  are  more  manageable,  and  only  wait  the  will  of  man  to 
take  their  direction.  The  rivers  of  the  torrid  zone,  like  the  monarchs 
of  the  country,  rule  with  despotic  tyranny  ;  profuse  in  their  bounties, 
and  ungovernable  in  their  rage.  The  rivers  of  Europe,  like  their 
kings,  are  the  friends,  and  not  the  oppressors  of  the  people  ;  bounded 
by  known  limits,  abridged  in  the  power  of  doing  ill,  directed  by  hu 
man  sagacity,  and  only  at  freedom  to  distribute  happiness  and  plenty 


CHAPTER  XV. 

OP  THE  OCEAN  IN  GENERAL  ;    AND  OP  ITS  SALTNESS. 

IP  we  look  upon  a  map  of  the  world,  we  shall  find  that  the  ocean 
occupies  considerably  more  of  the  globe,  than  the  land  is  found  to  do. 
This  immense  body  of  water  is  diffused  round  both  the  Old  and  New 
Continent,  to  the  south  ;  and  may  surround  them  also  to  the  north, 
for  what  we  know,  but  the  ice  in  those  regions  has  stopped  our  in- 
quiries. Although  the  ocean,  properly  speaking,  is  but  one  extensive 
sheet  of  waters,  continued  over  every  part  of  the  globe,  without  in- 
terruption, and  although  no  part  of  it  is  divided  from  the  rest,  yet 
geographers  have  distinguished  it  by  different  names ;  as  the  Atlantic 
or  Western  Ocean,  the  Northern  Ocean,  the  Southern  Ocean,  the  Pa- 
cific Ocean,  and  the  Indian  Ocean.  Others  have  divided  it  different- 
ly, and  given  other  names  ;  as  th.e  Frozen  Ocean,  the  Inferior  Ocean, 
or  the  American  Ocean.  But  all  these  being  arbitrary  distinctions, 
and  not  of  Nature's  making,  the  naturalist  may  consider  them  with 
indifference. 

In  this  vast  receptacle,  almost  all  the  rivers  of  the  earth  ultimately 
terminate  ;  nor  do  such  great  supplies  seem  to  increase  its  stores ;  for 
it  is  neither  apparently  swollen  by  their  tribute,  nor  diminished  by 
their  failure ;  it  still  continues  the  same.  Indeed,  what  is  the  quan- 
tity of  water  of  all  the  rivers  and  lakes  in  the  world,  compared  to  that 
contained  in  this  great  receptacle  ?*  If  we  should  offer  to  make  a  rude 
estimate,  we  shall  find  that  all  the  rivers  in  the  world,  flowing  into  the 
bed  of  the  sea,  with  a  continuance  of  their  present  stores,  would  take 
tip  at  least  eight  hundred  years  to  fill  it  to  its  present  height.  For, 
supposing  the  sea  to  be  eighty-five  millions  of  square  miles  in  extent, 
und  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  upon  an  average,  in  depth,  this,  upon  calcu- 
lation, will  give  about  twenty-one  millions  of  cubic  miles  of  water,  as 
the  contents  of  the  whole  ocean.  Now,  to  estimate  the  quantity  of 
wate/"  which  all  the  rivers  supply,  take  any  one  of  them ;  the  Po,  for 

vol.  ii.  p.  70. 


THE  EARTH  «;j 

instance,  the  quantity  of  whose  discharge  into  the  sea,  is  known  to  be 
one  cubic  mile  of  water  in  twenty-six  days.  Now  it  will  be  found, 
apon  a  rude  computation,  from  the  quantity  of  ground  the  Po,  with 
its  influent  streams,  covers,  that  all  the  rivers  of  the  world  furnish 
about  two  thousand  times  that  quantity  of  water.  In  the  space  of  a 
year,  therefore,  they  will  have  discharged  into  the  sea  about  twenty- 
six  thousand  cubic  miles  of  water ;  and  not  till  eight  hundred  years, 
will  they  have  discharged  as  much  water  as  is  contained  in  the  sea  at 
present.  I  have  not  troubled  the  reader  with  the  odd  numbers,  lest 
he  should  imagine  I  was  giving  precision  to  a  subject  that  is  incapable 
of  it. 

Thus  great  is  the  assemblage  of  waters  diffused  round  our  habitable 
globe  ;  and  yet  immeasurable  as  they  seem,  they  are  mostly  rendered 
subservient  to  the  necessities  and  the  conveniences  of  so  little  a  be- 
ing as  man.  Nevertheless,  if  it  should  be  asked  whether  they  be 
made  for  him  alone,  the  question  is  not  easily  resolved.  Some  phi- 
losophers have  perceived  so  much  analogy  to  man  in  the  formation  of 
the  ocean,  that  they  have  not  hesitated  to  assert  its  being  made  for 
him  alone.  The  distribution  of  land  and  water,*  say  they,  is  admira- 
ble :  the  one  being  laid  against  the  other  so  skilfully,  that  there  is  a 
just  equipoise  of  the  whole  globe.  Thus  the  Northern  Ocean  balances 
against  the  Southern  ;  and  the  New  Continent  is  an  exact  counter- 
weight to  the  Old.  As  to  any  objection  from  the  ocean's  occupying 
too  large  a  share  of  the  globe,  they  contend,  that  there  could  not  have 
been  a  smaller  surface  employed  to  supply  the  earth  with  a  due  share 
of  evaporation.  On  the  other  hand,  some  take  the  gloomy  side  of  the 
question  ;  they  either  magnify!  its  apparent  defects  ;  or  assert,  that| 
what  seem  defects  to  us,  may  be  real  beauties  to  some  wiser  order  of 
beings.  They  observe,  that  multitudes  of  animals  are  concealed  in  the 
ocean,  and  but  a  small  part  of  them  are  known  ;  the  rest  therefore,  they 
fail  not  to  say,  were  certainly  made  for  their  own  benefit,  and  not  for 
ours.  How  far  either  of  these  opinions  be  just,  I  will  not  presume  to 
determine ;  but  of  this  we  are  certain,  that  God  has  endowed  us  with 
abilities  to  turn  this  great  extent  of  waters  to  our  own  advantage. 
He  has  made  these  things,  perhaps,  for  other  uses ;  but  he  has  given 
us  faculties  to  convert  them  to  our  own.  The  much  agitated  ques- 
tion, therefore,  seems  to  terminate  here.  We  shall  never  know  whether 
the  things  of  this  world  have  been  made  for  our  use  ;  but  we  very 
well  know  that  we  have  been  made  to  enjoy  them.  Let  us  then  bold 
ly  affirm,  that  the  earth,  and  all  its 'wonders,  are  ours  ;  since  we  are 
furnished  with  powers  to  force  them  into  our  service.  Man  is  the 
lord  of  all  the  sublunary  creation  ;  the  howling  savage,  the  winding  ser- 
pent, with  all  the  untameable  and  rebellious  offspring  of  Nature,  are 
destroyed  in  the  contest,  or  driven  at  a  distance  from  his  habitations. 
The  extensive  and  tempestuous  ocean,  instead  of  limiting  or  dividing 
his  power,  only  serves  to  assist  his  industry,  and  enlarge  the  sphoro 
of  his  enjoyments.  Its  billows,  and  its  monsters,  instead  of  present- 
ing a  scene  of  terror,  only  call  up  the  courage  of  this  little  intrepid 
being ;  and  the  greatest  danger  that  man  now  fears  on  the  deep,  is 

*  Dtrham  Physico-Theol.    f  Bumet's  Theory,  passim.    \  Pope's  Ethic  Epistles,  passun 


96  A  HISTORY  OF 

from  his  fellow  creatures.  Indeed,  when  I  consider  the  human  race 
as  Nature  has  formed  them,  there  is  but  very  little  of  the  habitab.e 
globe  that  seems  made  for  them.  But  when  I  consider  them  as  ac- 
cumulating the  experience  of  ages,  in  commanding  the  earth,  there  is 
nothing  so  great  or  so  terrible.  What  a  poor  contemptible  being  is 
the  naked  savage,  standing  on  the  beach  of  the  ocean,  and  trembling 
at  its  tumults  !  How  little  capable  is  he  of  converting  its  terrors  in- 
to benefits  ;  or  of  saying,  Behold  an  element  made  wholly  for  my  en- 
joyments !  He  considers  it  as  an  angry  deity,  and  pays  it  the  homage 
of  submission.  But  it  is  very  different  when  he  has  exercised  his 
mental  powers  ;  when  he  has  learned  to  find  his  own  superiority,  and 
to  make  it  subservient  to  his  commands.  It  is  then  that  his  dignity 
begins  to  appear,  and  that  the  true  Deity  is  justly  praised  for  having 
been  mindful  of  man  ;  for  having  given  him  the  earth  for  his  habita- 
tion, and  the  sea  for  an  inheritance. 

This  power  which  man  has  obtained  over  the  ocean,  was  at  first  en- 
joyed in  common  ;  and  none  pretended  to  a  right  in  that  element  where 
all  seemed  intruders.  The  sea,  therefore,  was  open  to  all  till  the  time 
of  the  emperor  Justinian.  His  successor  Leo  granted  such  as  were  in 
possession  of  the  shoj-e,  the  sole  right  of  fishing  before  their  respec- 
tive territories.  The  Thracian  Bosphorus  was  the  first  that  was  thus 
appropriated  ;  and  from  that  time  it  has  been  the  struggle  of  most  of 
the  powers  of  Europe  to  obtain  an  exclusive  right  in  this  element. 
The  republic  of  Venice  claims  the  Adriatic.  The  Danes  are  in  the 
possession  of  the  Baltic.  But  the  English  have  a  more  extensive 
claim  to  the  empire  of  all  the  seas,  encompassing  the  kingdoms  of 
England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland  ;  and  although  these  have  been  long 
contested,  yet  they  are  now  considered  as  their  indisputable  property. 
Every  one  knows  that  the  great  power  of  the  nation  is  exerted  on 
this  element ;  and  that  the  instant  England  ceases  to  be  superior  upon 
the  ocean,  its  safety  begins  to  be  precarious. 

It  is  in  some  measure  owing  to  our  dependence  upon  the  sea,  and 
to  our  commerce  there,  that  we  are  so  well  acquainted  with  its  extent 
and  figure.  The  bays,  gulfs,  currents,  and  shallows  of  the  ocean,  are 
much  better  known  and  examined,  than  the  provinces  and  kingdoms 
of  the  earth  itself.  The  hopes  of  acquiring  wealth  by  commerce,  has 
carried  man  to  much  greater  length  than  the  desire  of  gaining  infor 
mation  could  have  done.  In  consequence  of  this,  there  is  scarce  a 
strait  or  a  harbour,  scarce  a  rock  or  a  quicksand,  scarce  an  inflectiun 
of  the  shore,  or  the  jutting  of  a  promontory,  that  has  not  been  minute- 
ly described.  But  as  these  present  very  little  entertainment  to  the 
imagination,  or  delight  to  any  but  those  whose  pursuits  are  lucrative, 
they  need  not  be  dwelt  upon  here.  While  the  merchant  and  the  mari 
ner  are  solicitous  in  describing  currents  and  soundings,  the  naturalist 
is  employed  in  observing  wonders,  though  not  so  beneficial,  yet  to  him 
of  a  much  more  important  nature.  The  saltness  of  the  sea  seems  to 
be  the  foremost. 

Whence  the  sea  has.  derived  that  peculiar  bitterish  saltness  which 
we  find  in  it,  appears,  by  Aristotle,  to  have  exercised  the  curiosity  of 
naturalists  in  all  ages.  He  supposed  (and  mankind  were  for  ages  con 
•  ml  \vilh  the  solut'on')  tnat  the  sun  continually  raised  dry  saline  ex 


Leopard    p.  119. 


Ounce,  p. 


Jaguar,  p.  120. 


THE  EARTH.  97 

halations  from  the  earth,  and  deposited  them  upon  the  sea ;  and  hence, 
say  his  followers,  the  waters  of  the  sea  are  more  salt  at  top  than  at 
bottom.  But,  unfortunately  for  this  opinion,  neither  of  the  facts  is  true. 
Sea-salt  is  not  to  be  raised  by  the  vapours  of  the  sun  ;  and  sea-watei 
is  not  salter  at  the  top  than  at  the  bottom.  Father  Bohours  is  of 
opinion,  that  the  Creator  gave  the  waters  of  the  ocean  their  saltncss 
at  the  beginning  ;  not  only  to  prevent  their  corruption,  but  to  enable 
them  to  bear  greater  burthens.  But  their  saltness  does  not  prevent 
their  corruption  ;  for  stagnant  sea-water,  like  fresh,  soon  grows  pu- 
trid :  and,  as  for  their  bearing  greater  burthens,  fresh-water  answers 
all  the  purposes  of  navigation  quite  as  well.  The  established  opinion, 
tnerefore,  is  that  of  Boyle,*  who  supposes,  "  That  the  sea's  saltness 
is  supplied  not  only  from  rocks  or  masses  of  salt  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  but  also  from  the  salt  which  the  rains  and  rivers,  and  other  wa- 
ters, dissolve  in  their  passage  through  many  parts  of  the  earth,  and  at 
length  carry  with  them  to  the  sea."  But  as  there  is  a  difference  in 
the  taste  of  rock-salt  found  at  land,  and  that  dissolved  in  the  waters 
of  the  ocean,  this  may  be  produced  by  the  plenty  of  nitrous  and  bitu- 
minous bodies  that,  with  the  salts,  are  likewise  washed  into  that  great 
receptacle.  These  substances  being  thus  once  carried  to  the  sea, 
must  for  ever  remain  there  ;  for  they  do  not  rise  by  evaporation,  so 
as  to  be  returned  back  from  whence  they  came.  Nothing  but  the 
fresh  waters  of  the  sea  rise  in  vapours ;  and  all  the  saltness  remains 
behind.  From  hence  it  follows,  that  every  year  the  sea  must  become 
more  and  more  salt ;  and  this  speculation,  Dr.  Halley  carries  so  far, 
as  to  lay  down  a  method  of  finding  out  the  age  of  the  world  by  the  salt- 
ness  of  its  waters.  "  For  if  it  be  observed,"!  says  he, "  what  quantitv  of 
salt  is  at  present  contained  in  a  certain  weight  of  water  taken  up  from 
the. Caspian  Sea,  for  example,  and,  after  some  centuries,  what  greater 
quantity  of  salt  is  contained  in  the  same  weight  of  water,  taken  from 
the  same  place  ;  we  may  conclude,  that  in  proportion  as  the  saltness 
has  increased  in  a  certain  time,  so  much  must  it  have  increased  before 
that  time  ;  and  we  may  thus,  by  the  rule  of  proportion,  make  an  esti- 
mate of  the  whole  time  wherein  the  water  would  acquire  the  degree 
of  saltness  it  should  be  then  possessed  of."  All  this  may  be  fine  ; 
however,  an  experiment,  begun  in  this  century,  which  is  not  to  be 
completed  till  some  centuries  hence,  is  rather  a  little  mortifying  to 
modern  curiosity  ;  and,  I  am  induced  to  think,  the  inhabitants  round 
the  Caspian  Sea,  will  not  be  apt  to  undertake  the  inquiry. 

This  saltness  is  found  to  prevail  in  every  part  of  the  ocean  ;  and  as 
much  at  the  surface  as  at  the  bottom.  It  is  also  found  in  all  those 
seas  that  communicate  with  the  ocean  ;  but  rather  in  a  less  degree. 

The  great  lakes,  likewise,  that  have  no  outlets  nor  communication 
with  the  ocean,  are  found  to  be  salt ;  but  some  of  them  in  less  pro- 
portion. On  the  contrary,  all  those  lakes  through  which  rivers  run 
into  the  sea,  however  extensive  they  be,  are,  notwithstanding,  very 
fresh  :  for  the  rivers  do  not  deposit  their  salts  in  the  bed  of  the  lake, 
but  carry  them  with  their  currents  into  the  ocean.  .  Thus  the  lakes 
Ontario  and  Erie,  in  North  America,  although  for  magnitude  Aej 

»  Boyle,  vol.  iii.  p.  221.  t  Phil-  Trans,  vol.  v.  p.  218. 

TOL.  I.  G 


98  A  HISTORY  OF 

may  be  considered  as  inland  seas,  are,  nevertheless,  fresh-water  lakes  ; 
and  kept  so  by  the  river  St.  Lawrence,  which  passes  through  them. 
But  those  lakes  that  have  no  communication  with  the  sea,  nor  any 
-ivers  going  out,  although  they  be  less  than  the  former,  are,  however, 
always  salt.  Thus,  that  which  goes  by  the  name  of  the  Dead  Sea, 
though  very  small,  when  compared  to  those  already  mentioned,  is  so 
exceedingly  salt,  that  its  waters  seem  scarcely  capable  of  dissolving 
any  more.  The  lakes  of  Mexico  and  of  Titicaca,  in  Peru,  though  of 
no  great  extent,  are,  nevertheless,  salt ;  and  both  for  the  same  reason. 

Those  who  are  willing  to  turn  all  things  to  the  best,  have  not  failed 
to  consider  this  saltness  of  the  sea,  as  a  peculiar  blessing  from  Provi- 
dence, in  order  to  keep  so  great  an  element  sweet  and  wholesome. 
What  foundation  there  may  be  in  the  remark,  I  will  not  pretend  to 
determine  ;  but  we  shall  shortly  find  a  much  better  cause  for  its  being 
kept  sweet,  namely,  its  motion. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  have  been  many  who  have  considered  the 
subject  in  a  different  light,  and  have  tried  every  endeavour  to  make 
salt-water  fresh,  so  as  to  supply  the  wants  of  mariners  in  long  voyages, 
or  when  exhausted  of  their  ordinary  stores.  At  first  it  was  supposed 
simple  distillation  would  do  ;  but  it  was  soon  found  that  the  bitter 
part  of  the  water  still  kept  mixed.  It  was  then  tried  by  uniting  salt 
of  tartar  with  sea-water,  and  distilling  both  :  but  here  the  expense  was 
greater  than  the  advantage.  Calcined  bones  were  next  thought  of; 
but  a  hogshead  of  calcined  bones,  carried  to  sea,  would  take  up  as 
much  room  as  a  hogshead  of  water,  and  was  more  hard  to  be  obtained. 
In  this  state,  therefore,  have  the  attempts  to  sweeten  sea-water  rested  ; 
the  chymist  satisfied  with  the  reality  of  his  invention  ;  and  the  mari- 
ner convinced  of  its  being  useless.  I  cannot,  therefore,  avoid  men- 
tioning a  kind  of  succedaneum  which  has  been  lately  conceived  to  an- 
swer the  purposes  of  fresh-water,  when  mariners  are  quite  exhausted. 
It  is  well  known,  that  persons  who  go  into  a  warm  bath,  come  out 
several  ounces  heavier  than  they  went  in  ;  their  bodies  having  im- 
bibed a  correspondent  quantity  of  water.  This  more  particularly 
happens,  if  they  have  been  previously  debarred  from  drinking,  or  go 
in  with  a  violent  thirst ;  which  they  quickly  find  quenched,  and  their 
spirits  restored.  It  was  supposed,  that  in  case  of  a  total  failure  of 
fresh-water  at  sea,  a  warm  bath  might  be  made  of  sea-water,  for  the 
use  of  mariners ;  and  that  their  pores  would  thus  imbibe  the  fluid, 
without  any  of  its  salts,  which  would  be  seen  to  crystallize  on  the  sur- 
face of  their  bodies.  In  this  manner,  it  is  supposed,  a  sufficient  quan- 
tity of  moisture  may  be  procured  to  sustain  life,  till  time  or  accident 
furnish  a  more  copious  supply. 

But,  however  this  be,  the  saltness  of  the  sea  can  by  no  means  be 
considered  as  a  principal  cause  in  preserving  its  waters  from  putre- 
faction. The  ocean  has  its  currents,  like  rivers,  which  circulate  its 
contents  round  the  globe  ;  and  these  may  be  said  to  be  the  great 
agents  that  keep  it  sweet  and  wholesome.  Its  saltness  alone  would 
by  no  means  answer  this  purpose :  and  some  have  even  imagined, 
that  the  various  substances  with  which  it  is  mixed,  rather  tend  to  pro- 
mote putrescence  than  impede  it.  Sir  Robert  Hawkins,  one  of  our 
most  enlightened  navigator*,  gives  the  following  account  of  a  calm,  ID 


THE  EARTH.  99 

which  the  sea,  continuing  for  some  time  without  motion,  began  10  as 
sume  a  very  formidable  appearance.  "  Were  it  not/'  sa}  s  he,  "  for 
the  moving  of  the  sea,  by  the  force  of  winds,  tides,  and  currents,  it 
would  corrupt  all  the  world.  The  experiment  of  this  I  saw  in  the 
year  1590,  lying  with  a  fleet  about  the  islands  of  Azores,  almost  six 
months  ;  the  greatest  part  of  which  time  we  were  becalmed.  Upon 
which  all  the  sea  became  so  replenished  with  several  sorts  of  jellies, 
and  forms  of  serpents,  adders,  and  snakes,  as  seemed  wonderful 
some  green,  some  black,  some  yellow,  some  white,  some  of  divers 
colours  ;  and  many  of  them  had  life  ;  and  some  there  were  a  yard 
and  a  half,  and  two  yards  long  ;  which,  had  I  not  seen,  I  could  hardly 
have  believed.  And  hereof  are  witnesses  all  the  company  of  the  ships 
which  were  then  present ;  so  that  hardly  a  man  could  draw  a  bucket 
of  water  clear  of  some  corruption.  In  which  voyage,  towards  the  end 
thereof,  many  of  every  ship  fell  sick,  and  began  to  die  apace.  But 
the  speedy  passage  into  our  country  was  a  remedy  to  the  crazed,  and 
a  preservative  for  those  that  were  not  touched." 

This  shows,  abundantly,  how  little  the  sea's  saltness  was  capable  of 
preserving  it  from  putrefaction :  but  to  put  the  matter  beyond  all 
doubt,  Mr.  Boyle*  kept  a  quantity  of  sea-water,  taken  up  in  the  En- 
glish Channel,  for  some  time  barrelled  up  ;  and,  in  the  space  of  a  few 
weeks,  it  began  to  acquire  a  fetid  smell :  he  was  also  assured  by  one 
of  his  acquaintance,  who  was  becalmed  for  twelve  or  fourteen  days  in 
the  Indian  Sea,  that  the  water,  for  want  of  motion,  began  to  stink ; 
and  that  had  it  continued  much  longer,  the  stench  would  probably  have 
poisoned  him.  It  is  the  motion,  therefore,  and  not  the  saltness  of  the 
sea,  that  preserves  it  in  its  present  state  of  salubrity ;  and  this,  very 
probably,  by  dashing  and  breaking  in  pieces  the  rudiments,  if  I  may 
so  call  them,  of  the  various  animals  that  would  otherwise  breed  there, 
and  putrefy. 

There  are  some  advantages,  however,  which  are  derived  from  the 
saltness  of  the  ,sea.  Its  waters  being  evaporated,  furnish  that  salt 
which  is  used  for  domestic  purposes ;  and  although  in  some  places  it 
is  made  from  springs,  and  in  others  dug  out  of  mines,  yet  the  greatest 
quantity  is  made  only  from  the  sea.  That  which  is  called  bay-salt^ 
(from  its  coming  to  us  by  the  bay  of  Biscay)  is  a  stronger  kind,  made 
by  evaporation  in  the  sun  ;  that  called  common-salt,  is  evaporated  in 
pans  over  the  fire,  and  is  of  a  much  inferio"  quality  to  the  former. 

Another  benefit  arising  from  the  quantity  of  salt  dissolved  in  the 
sea,  is,  that  it  thus  becomes  heavier,  and,  consequently,  more  buoyant. 
Mr.  Boyle,  who  examined  the  difference  between  sea-water  and  fresh, 
ftmnd  that  the  former  appeared  to  be  about  a  forty-fifth  part  heavier 
than  the  latter.  Those,  also,  who  have  had  opportunities  of  bathing 
in  the  sea,  pretend  to  have  experienced  a  much  greater  ease  in  swim- 
ming there  than  in  fresh  water.  However,  as  we  see  they  have  only 
a  forty-fifth  part  more  of  their  weight  sustained  by  it,  I  am  apt  to 
doubt  whether  so  minute  a  difference  can  be  practically  perceivable. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  as  sea-water  alters  in  its  weight  from  fresh,  so  it  is 
found  also  to  differ  from  itself  in  different  parts  of  the  ocean.  In 

*  Boyle,  vol.  iii.  p.  222 


jtfj  A  HISTORY  OF 

general,  it  is  perceivable  to  be  heavier,  and  consequently  salter,  ths 
oearer  we  approach  the  line.* 

But  ihere  is  an  advantage  arising  from  the  saltness  of  the  waters  of 
the  sea,  much  greater  than  what  has  been  yet  mentioned ;  which  is, 
that  thuir  congelation  is  thus  retarded.  Some,  indeed,  have  gone  so 
far  as  to  say,  that  sea-water  never  freezes  :t  but  this  is  an  assertion 
contradicted  by  experience.  However,  it  is  certain  that  it  requires  a 
much  greater  degree  of  cold  to  freeze  it  than  fresh-water ;  so  that, 
while  rivers  and  springs  are  seen  converted  into  one  solid  body  of 
ice,  the  sea  is  always  fit  for  navigation,  and  no  way  affected  by  the 
coldness  of  the  severest  winter.  It  is,  therefore,  one  of  the  greatest 
bLessings  we  derive  from  this  element,  that,  when  at  land  all  the  stores 
of  nature  are  locked  up  from  us,  we  find  the  sea  ever  open  to  our 
necessities,  and  patient  of  the  hand  of  industry. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed,  because  in  our  temperate  climate  we 
never  see  the  sea  frozen,  that  it  is  in  the  same  manner  open  in  every 
part  of  it.  A  very  little  acquaintance  with  the  accounts  of  mariners, 
must  have  informed  us,  that  at  the  polar  regions  it  is  embarrassed  with 
mountains  and  moving  sheets  of  ice,  that  often  render  it  impassable. 
These  tremendous  floats  are  of  different  magnitudes  ;  sometimes 
rising  more  than  a  thousand  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  water  :| 
sometimes  diffused  mto  plains  of  above  two  hundred  leagues  in  length  ; 
and,  in  many  parts,  sixty  or  eighty  broad.  They  are  usually  divided 
by  fissures ;  one  piece  following  another  so  close,  that  a  person  may 
step  from  one  to  the  other.  Sometimes  mountains  are  seen  rising 
amidst  these  plains,  and  presenting  the  appearance  of  a  variegated  land 
scape,  with  hills  and  valleys,  houses,  churches,  and  towers.  These 
are  appearances  in  which  all  naturalists  are  agreed ;  but  the  great 
contest  is  respecting  their  formation.  Mr.  Buffon  asserts,^,  that  they 
are  formed  from  fresh-water  alone,  which  congealing  at  the  mouths 
of  great  rivers,  accumulate  those  huge  masses  that  disturb  navigation. 
However,  this  great  naturalist  seems  not  to  have  been  aware  that  there 
are  two  sorts  of  ice  floating  in  these  seas ;  the  flat  ice,  and  the  moun 
tain  ice  :  the  one  formed  of  sea-water  only ;  the  other  of  fresh.|| 

The  flat  or  driving  ice,  is  entirely  composed  of  sea-water  ;  which, 
upon  dissolution,  is  found  to  be  salt ;  and  is  readily  distinguished 
from  the  mountain,  or  fresh-water  ice,  by  its  whiteness,  and  want  of 
transparency.  This  ice  is  much  more  terrible  to  mariners  than  that 
which  rises  up  in  lumps :  a  ship  can  avoid  the  one,  as  it  is  seen  at  a 
distance;  but  it  often  gels  in  among  the  other,  which,  sometimes 
closing,  crushes  it  to  pieces.  This,  which  manifestly  has  a  different 
origin  from  the  fresh-water  ice,  may  perhaps  have  been  produced  in 
the  Icy  Sea,  beneath  the  pole  ;  or  along  the  coasts  of  Spitzbergen  or 
Nova  Zembla. 

The  mountain  ice,  as  was  said,  is  different  in  every  respect,  being 
formed  of  fresh-water,  and  appearing  hard  and  transparent ;  it  is 
generally  of  a  pale  green  colour,  though  some  pieces  are  of  a  beauti- 
ful sky-blue  ;  many  large  masses  also  appear  gray,  and  some  black 


Phil  Trans,  vol.  ii. 


p.  297.  f  Macrobius.   f  Crantz's  History  of  Greenland-  voL  i  p.  3\ 
Buffon,  vol.  ii.  p.  91.  ||  Crantz. 


THE  EARTH.  101 

If  examined  more  nearly,  they  are  found  to  be  incorporated  with 
earth,  stones,  and  brush-wood,  washed  fro/n  the  shore.  On  these  als<r 
are  sometimes  found,  not  only  earth,  5u*  aests  '^vJth  br/6V*.JJe'ggs,  al 
several  hundred  miles  from  land.  The 'generality  'of  th-e'se,  though 
almost  totally  fresh,  have  nevertheless ' a^h^ck  ^fast'of-SvaJt-water  fro- 
zen upon  them,  probably  from  the  power-  that'  ice'-hai'rgOnTteivn^s  to 
produce  ice.  Such  mountains  as  are  here  described,  are  most  usually 
seen  at  spring-time,  and  after  a  violent  storm,  driving  out  to  sea,  where 
they  at  first  terrify  the  mariner,  and  are  soon  after  dashed  to  pieces 
by  the  continual  washing  of  the  waves ;  or  driven  into  the  warmer 
regions  of  the  south,  there  to  be  melted  away.  They  sometimes,  how- 
ever, strike  back  upon  their  native  shores,  where  they  seem  to  take 
root  at  the  feet  of  mountains  ;  and,  as  Martius  tells  us,  are  sometimes 
higher  than  the  mountains  themselves.  Those  seen  by  him  were  blue, 
full  of  clefts  and  cavities  made  by  the  rain,  and  crowned  with  snow, 
which,  alternately  thawing  and  freezing  every  year,  augmented  their 
size.  These,  composed  of  materials  more  solid  than  that  driving 
at  sea,  presented  a  variety  of  agreeable  figures  to  the  eye,  that 
with  a  little  help  from  fancy  assumed  the  appearance  of  trees  in  blos- 
som ;  the  inside  of  churches,  with  arches,  pillars,  and  windows ;  and 
the  blue-coloured  rays,  darting  from  within,  presented  the  resemblance 
of  a  glory. 

If  we  inquire  into  the  origin  and  formation  of  these,  which,  as  we 
see,  are  very  different  from  the  former,  I  think  we  have  a  very  satis- 
factory account  of  them  in  Crantz's  History  of  Greenland  ;  and  I  will 
take  leave  to  give  the  passage  with  a  very  few  alterations.  "  These 
mountains  of  ice,"  says  he,  "  are  not  salt,  like  the  sea-water,  but 
sweet ;  and  therefore,  can  be  formed  no  where  except  on  the  moun- 
tains, in  rivers,  in  caverns,  and  against  the  hills  near  the  sea-shore. 
The  mountains  of  Greenland  are  so  high,  that  the  snow  which  falls 
upon  them,  particularly  on  the  north-side,  is  in  one  night's  time  whol« 
ly  converted  into  ice  :  they  also  contain  clefts  and  cavities,  where 
the  sun  seldom  or  never  injects  his  rays:  besides  these,  are  projec- 
tions, or  landing-places,  on  the  declivities  of  the  steepest  hills,  where 
the  rain  and  snow-water  lodge,  and  quickly  congeal.  When  now  the 
accumulated  flakes  of  snow  slide  down,  or  fall  with  the  rain  from  the 
eminences  above,  on  these  prominences ;  or,  when  here  and  there  a 
mountain-spring  comes  rolling  down  to  such  a  lodging-place,  where 
die  ice  has  already  seated  itself,  they  all  freeze,  and  add  their  tribute 
to  it.  This,  by  degrees,  waxes  to  a  body  of  ice,  that  can  no  more  be 
overpowered  by  the  sun ;  and  which,  though  it  may  indeed,  at  cer- 
tain seasons,  diminish  by  a  thaw,  yet,  upon  the  whole,  through  annual 
acquisitions,  it  assumes  an  annual  growth.  Such  a  body  of  ice  is 
often  prominent  far  over  the  rocks.  It  does  not  melt  on  the  upper 
surface,  but  underneath  ;  and  often  cracks  into  many  larger  or  smallef 
clefts,  from  whence  the  thawed  water  trickles  out.  By  this,  it  be- 
t%,omes  at  last  so  weak,  that  being  overloaded  with  its  own  ponderous 
bulk,  it  breaks  loose,  and  tumbles  down  the  rocks  with  a  terrible 
vrash.  Where  it  happens  to  overhang  a  precipice  on  the  shore,  it 
olunges  into  the  deep  with  a  shock  like  thunder;  and  with  such  an 
agitation  of  the  water,  as  will  overset  a  boat  at  some  distance,  as 


102  A  HISTORY  OF 

many  a  poor  Greenlander  has  fatally  experienced."  Thus  are  these 
amazing  ice-mountains  launched  forth  to  sea,  and  found  floating  in 
the  waters  'round-  bath-'  th*e  *  poles.  It  is  these  that  have  hindered 
mariners  from  discovering  the  extensive  countries  that  lie  round  the 
Sout.li  P<ilew;  -tOicr  -that  Ipnibdbly  block  up  the  passage  to  China  by  the 

*  *•?*•••  i.sVrt.x  •*• 


I  will  conclude  this  chapter,  with  one  effect  more,  produced  by  the 
•altness  of  the  sea;  which  is  the  luminous  appearance  of  its  waves  in 
the  night.  All  who  have  been  spectators  of  a  sea  by  night,  a  little 
ruffled  with  winds,  seldom  fail  of  observing  its  fiery  brightness.  In 
some  places  it  shines  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  ;*  at  other  times, 
only  when  the  waves  boom  against  the  side  of  the  vessel,  or  the  oar 
dashes  into  the  water.  Some  seas  shine  often  ;  others  more  seldom  ; 
some,  ever  when  particular  winds  blow  ;  and  others  within  a  narrow 
compass  ;  a  long  tract  of  light  being  seen  along  the  surface,  whilst  all 
the  rest  is  hid  in  total  darkness.  It  is  not  easy  to  account  for  these 
extraordinary  appearances  :  some  have  supposed  that  a  number  of  lu- 
minous insects  produced  the  effect,  and  this  is  in  reality  sometimes 
the  case;  in  general,  however,  they  have  every  resemblance  to  that 
light  produced  by  electricity  ;  and,  probably,  arise  from  the  agitation 
and  dashing  of  the  saline  particles  of  the  fluid  against  each  other. 
But  the  manner  in  which  this  is  done,  for  we  can  produce  nothing 
similar  by  any  experiments  hitherto  made,  remains  for  some  happier 
accident  to  discover.  Our  progress  in  the  knowledge  of  nature  is 
slow  :  and  it  is  a  mortifying  consideration,  that  we  are  hitherto  more 
indebted  for  success  to  chance  than  industry. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

OP    THE    TIDES,     MOTION,    AND    CURRENTS    OF    THE    SEA ;     WITH    THEIR 
EFFECTS. 

IT  was  said  in  the  former  chapter,  that  the  waters  of  the  sea  were 
kept  sweet  by  their  motion  ;  without  which  they  would  soon  putrefy, 
and  spread  universal  infection.  If  we  look  for  final  causes,  here  in- 
deed we  have  a  great  and  an  obvious  one  that  presents  itself  before  us. 
Had  the  sea  been  made  without  motion,  and  resembling  a  pool  of 
stagnant  water,  the  nobler  races  of  animated  nature  would  shortly  be 
at  an  end.  Nothing  would  then  be  left  alive  but  swarms  of  ill-formed 
creatures,  with  scarcely  more  than  vegetable  life  ;  and  subsisting  by 
putrefaction.  Were  this  extensive  bed  of  waters  entirely  quiescent, 
millions  of  the  smaller  reptile  kinds  would  there  find  a  proper  retreat 
to  breed  and  multiply  in  :  they  would  find  there  no  agitation,  no  con- 
cussion in  the  parts  of  the  fluid  to  crush  their  feeble  frames,  or  to 
force  them  from  the  places  where  they  were  bred  :  there  they  would 
iiultipiy  in  security  and  ease,  enjoy  a  short  life,  and  putrefying  thus 
again,  give  nourishment  to  numberless  others,  as  little  worthy  of  ex 
istence  as  themselves.  But  the  motion  of  this  great  element,  effccla 

*  Boyle,  voL  i.  p.  294. 


THE  EARTH.  103 

ally  destroys  the  number  of  these  viler  creatures  ;  its  currents  and  its 
tides  oroduce  continual  agitations,  the  shock  of  which  they  are  not 
able  to  endure  ;  the  parts  of  the  fluid  rubbing  against  each  other,  de 
stroy  all  the  viscidities ;  and  the  ocean,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  ac 
quires  health  by  exercise. 

The  most  obvious  motion  of  the  sea,  and  the  most  generally  ac- 
knowledged, is  that  of  its  tides.  This  element  is  observed  to  flow  foi 
certain  hours,  from  south  towards  the  north  ;  in  which  motion  or  flux, 
which  lasts  about  six  hours,  the  sea  gradually  swells  ;  so  that  entering 
the  mouths  of  rivers,  it  drives  back  the  river-waters  to  their  heads. 
After  a  continual  flux  of  six  hours,  the  sea  seems  to  rest  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour ;  and  then  begins  to  ebb,  or  retire  back  again,  from  north 
to  south,  for  six  hours  more  ;  in  which  time  the  waters  sinking,  the 
rivers  resume  their  natural  course.  After  a  seeming  pause  of  a  quar- 
ter  of  an  hour,  the  sea  again  begins  to  flow  as  before  :  and  thus  it  has 
alternately  risen  and  fallen,  twice  a-day,  since  the  creation. 

This  amazing  appearance  did  not  fail  to  excite  the  curiosity,  as  it 
did  the  wonder  of  the  ancients.  After  some  wild  conjectures  of  the 
earliest  philosophers,  it  became  well  known  in  the  time  of  Pliny,  that 
the  tides  were  entirely  under  the  influence,  in  a  small  degree,  of  the 
sun  ;  but  in  a  much  greater  of  the  moon.  It  was  found  that  there  was 
a  flux  and  reflux  of  the  sea,  in  the  space  of  twelve  hours,  fifty  minutes, 
which  is  exactly  the  time  of  a  lunar  day.  It  was  observed,  that  when- 
ever the  moon  was  in  the  meridian,  or,  in  other  words,  as  nearly  as 
possible  over  any  part  of  the  sea,  that  the  sea  flowed  to  that  part,  and 
made  a  tide  there  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  found,  that  when  the  moon 
left  the  meridian,  the  sea  began  to  flow  back  again  from  whence  it 
came ;  and  there  might  be  said  to  ebb.  Thus  far  the  waters  of  the 
sea  seemed  very  regularly  to  attend  the  motions  of  the  moon.  But  as 
it  appeared,  likewise,  that  when  the  moon  was  in  the  opposite  meridi- 
an, as  far  off  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  that  there  was  a  tide  on 
this  side  also  ;  so  that  the  moon  produced  two  tides,  one  by  her  great- 
est approach  to  us,  and  another  by  her  greatest  distance  from  us :  in 
other  words,  the  moon,  in  once  going  round  the  earth,  produced  two 
tides,  always  at  the  same  time ;  one  on  the  other  part  of  the  globe 
directly  under  her  ;  and  the  other,  on  the  part  of  the  globe  directly 
opposite. 

Mankind  continued  for  several  ages  content  with  knowing  the  gene- 
ral cause  of  these  wonders,  hopeless  of  discovering  the  particular 
manner  of  the  moon's  operation.  Kepler  was  the  first  who  conjec- 
tured that  attraction  was  the  principal  cause,  asserting,  that  the  sphere 
of  the  moon's  operation  extended  to  the  earth,  and  drew  up  its  wa- 
ters. The  precise  manner  in  which  this  is  done,  was  discovered  by 
ISewton. 

The  moon  has  been  found,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  planets,  to  at—' 
tract  aud  to  be  attracted  by  the  earth.  This  attraction  prevails 
throughout  our  whole  planetary  system.  The  more  matter  there  is 
Contained  in  any  body,  the  more  it  attracts;  and  its  influence  de 
creases  in  nroportion  as  the  distance,  when  squared,  increases.  This 
being  premised,  let  us  see  what  must  ensue  upon  supposing  the  moon 
-a  the  meridian  of  any  tract  of  the  sea.  The  surface  of  the  water 


104  A  HISTORY  OF 

immediately  antier  the  moon,  is  nearer  the  moon  than  any  other  part 
of  the  globe  is ;  and,  therefore,  must  be  more  subject  to  its  attraction 
than  the  waters  any  where  else.  The  waters  will,  therefore,  be  at- 
tracted by  the  moon,  and  rise  in  a  heap ;  whose  eminence  will  be  the 
highest  where  the  attraction  is  greatest.  In  order  to  form  this  emi- 
nence, it  is  obvious  that  the  surface,  as  well  as  the  depths,  will  be 
agitated;  and  that  wherever  the  waters  run  from  one  part,  succeeding 
waters  must  run  to  fill  up  the  space  it  has  left.  Thus  the  waters  of 
the  sea,  running  from  all  parts,  to  attend  the  motion  of  the  moon, 
produce  the  flowing  of  the  tide ;  and  it  is  high  tide  at  that  part  wherever 
the  moon  comes  over  it,  or  to  its  meridian. 

But  when  the  moon  travels  onward,  and  ceases  to  point  over  the 
place  where  the  waters  were  just  risen,  the  cause  here  of  their  rising 
ceasing  to  operate,  they  will  flow  back  by  their  natural  gravity  into 
the  lower  parts  from  whence  they  had  travelled ;  and  this  retiring  oi 
the  waters  will  form  the  ebbing  of  the  sea. 

Thus  the  first  part  of  the  demonstration  is  obvious;  since,  in  gene- 
ral, it  requires  no  great  sagacity  to  conceive  that  the  waters  nearest 
the  moon  are  most  attracted,  or  raised  highest  by  the  moon.  But  the 
other  part  of  the  demonstration,  namely,  how  there  come  to  be  high 
tides  at  the  same  time,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  globe,  and  where  the 
waters  are  farthest  from  the  moon,  is  not  so  easy  to  conceive.  To  com 
prehend  this,  it  must  be  observed,  that  the  part  of  the  earth  and  its  wa- 
ters that  are  farthest  from  the  moon,  are  the  parts  of  all  others  that 
are  least  attracted  by  the  moon  :  it  must  also  be  observed,  that  all  the 
waters,  when  the  moon  is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  earth,  must  be 
attracted  by  it  in  the  same  direction  that  the  earth  itself  attracts 
them  ;  that  is,  if  I  may  so  say,  quite  through  the  body  of  the  earth, 
towards  the  moon  itself.  This,  therefore,  being  conceived,  it  is 
plain  that  those  waters  which  are  farthest  from  the  moon,  will  have 
less  weight  than  those  of  any  other  part,  on  the  same  side  of  the 
globe;  because  the  moon's  attraction,  which  conspires  with  the  earth's 
attraction,  is  there  least.  Now,  therefore,  the  waters  farthest  from 
the  moon,  having  less  weight,  and  being  lightest,  will  be  pressed  on 
all  sides,  by  those  that,  having  more  attraction,  are  heavier:  they  will 
be  pressed,  I  say,  on  all  sides;  and  the  heavier  waters  flowing  in, 
will  make  them  swell  and  rise,  in  an  eminence  directly  opposite  to 
that  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  caused  by  the  more  immediate 
influence  of  the  moon. 

In  this  manner,  the  moon,  in  one  diurnal  revolution,  produces  two 
tides;  one  raised  immediately  under  the  sphere  of  its  influence,  and 
the  other  directly  opposite  to  it.  As  the  moon  travels,  this  vast  body 
of  waters  rears  upward,  as  if  to  watch  its  motions ;  and  pursues  the 
same  constant  rotation.  However,  in  this  great  work  of  raising  the 
tides,  the  sun  has  no  small  share  ;  it  produces  its-»wn  tides  constantly 
every  day,  just  as  the  moon  does,  but  in  a  much  >-ss  degree,  because 
the  sun  is  at  an  immensely  greater  distance.  Tb*'*  there  are  solai 
tides,  and  lunar  tides.  When  the  forces  of  these  wo  great  luminn- 
ries  concur,  which  they  always  do  when '  they  are  ei*r<er  in  the  same, 
or  in  opposite  parts  of  the  heavens,  they  jointly  produ'**  a  much  great- 
Hi  tide,  than  when  they  are  so  situated  in  the  heavens,  a*  «ich  to  make 


THE  EARTH.  105 

peculiar  tides  of  their  own.  To  express  the  very  same  thing  techni- 
cally ;  in  the  conjunctions  and  oppositions  of  the  sun  and  moor,  the 
attraction  of  the  sun  conspires  with  the  attraction  of  the  moon  ;  bv 
which  means  the  high  spring-tides  are  formed.  But  in  the  quadratures 
of  the  sun  and  moon,  the  water  raised  by  the  one  is  depressed  by  the 
other ;  and  hence  the  lower  neap-tides  have  their  production.  In  a 
word,  the  tides  are  greatest  in  the  syzigies,  and  least  in  the  quadra- 
tures. 

This  theory  well  understood,  and  the  astronomical  terms  previously 
known,  it  may  readily  be  brought  to  explain  the  various  appearances 
of  the  tides,  if  the  earth  were  covered  with  a  deep  sea,  and  the  waters 
uninfluenced  by  shoals,  currents,  straits,  or  tempests.  But  in  every 
part  of  the  sea,  near  the  shores,  the  geographer  must  come  in  to  cor- 
rect the  calculations  of  the  astronomer.  For,  by  reason  of  the  shal- 
lowness  of  some  places,  and  the  narrowness  of  the  straits  in  others, 
there  arises  a  great  diversity  in  the  effect,  not  to  be  accounted  for 
without  an  exact  knowledge  of  all  the  circumstances  of  the  place.  In 
the  great  depths  of  the  ocean,  for  instance,  a  very  slow  and  impercep- 
tible motion  of  the  whole  body  of  water  will  suffice  to  raise  its  surface 
several  feet  high  ;  but  if  the  same  increase  of  water  is  to  be  conveyed 
through  a  narrow  channel,  it  must  rush  through  it  with  the  most  im- 
petuous rapidity.  Thus,  in  the  English  Channel,  and  the  German 
Ocean,  the  tide  is  found  to  flow  strongest  in  those  places  that  are  nar- 
rowest ;  the  same  quantity  of  water  being,  in  this  case,  driven  through 
a  smaller  passage.  It  is  often  seen,  therefore,  pouring  through  a  strait 
with  great  force  ;  and  by  its  rapidity,  considerably  raised  above  the 
surface  of  that  part  of  the  ocean  into  which  it  runs.  . 

This  shallowness  and  narrowness  in  many  parts  of  the  sea  give  also 
-rise  to  a  peculiarity  in  the  tides  of  some  parts  of  the  world.  For  in 
many  places,  and  in  our  own  seas  in  particular,  the  greatest  swell  of 
the  tide  is  not  while  the  moon  is  in  its  meridian  height,  and  directly 
over  the  place,  but  some  time  after  it  has  declined  from  thence.  The 
sea,  in  this  case,  being  obstructed,  pursues  the  moon  with  what  dis- 
patch it  can,  but  does  not  arrive  with  all  its  waters  till  long  after  the 
moon  has  ceased  to  operate.  Lastly,  from  this  shallowness  of  the  sea, 
and  from  its  being  obstructed  by  shoals  and  straits,  we  may  account 
for  the  Mediterranean,  the  Baltic,  and  the  Black  Sea,  having  no  sensible 
tides.  These,  though  to  us  they  seem  very  extensive,  are  not  how- 
ever large  enough  to  be  affected  by  the  influence  of  the  moon  ;  and 
as  to  their  communication  with  the  ocean,  through  such  narrow  inlets 
it  is  impossible  in  a  few  hour's  time  that  they  should  receive  and  r« 
turn  water  enough  to  raise  or  depress  them  in  any  considerable  degree. 

In  general,  therefore,  we  may  observe,  that  all  tides  are  much  high- 
er, and  more  considerable,  in  the  torrid  zone,  than  in  the  rest  of  the 
ocean  ;  the  sea  in  those  parts  being  generally  deeper,  and  less  affect- 
ed by  changeable  winds,  or  winding  shores.*  The  greatest  tide  we 
know  of,  is  that  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Indus,  where  the  water 
rises  thirty  feet  in  height.  How  great,  therefore,  must  have  been  the 
amazement  of  Alexander's  soldiers  at  so  strange  an  appearance !  Thev 

»  BufFon,  vol.  ii.  p.  187 


106  A  HISTORY  OF 

who  always  nefore  had  been  accustomed  only  to  the  scarcely  percep 
tible  risings  of  the  Mediterranean,  or  the  minute  intumescence  of  the 
Black  Sea,  when  made  at  once  spectators  of  a  river  rising  and  falling 
thirty  feet  in  a  few  hours, must,  no  doubt,  have  felt  the  most  extreme 
awe,  and,  as  we  are  told,*  a  mixture  of  curiosity  and  apprehension. 
The  tides  are  also  remarkably  high  on  the  coasts  of  Malay,  in  the 
straits  of  Sunda,  in  the  Red  Sea,  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  St.  Law 
rence,  along  the  coasts  of  China  and  Japan,  at  Panama,  and  in  the 
gulf  of  Bengal.  The  tides  at  Tonquin,  however,  are  the  most  remark- 
able in  the  world.  In  this  part  there  is  but  one  tide,  and  one  ebb,  in 
twenty-four  hours ;  whereas,  as  we  have  said  before,  in  other  places 
there  arextwo.  Besides,  there,  twice  in  each  month,  there  is  no  tide 
at  all,  when  the  moon  is  near  the  equinoctial,  the  water  being  for  some 
time  quite  stagnant.  These,  with  some  other  odd  appearances  attend- 
ing the  same  phenomena,  were  considered  by  many  as  inscrutable ; 
but  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  with  peculiar  sagacity,  adjudged  them  to  arise 
from  the  concurrence  of  two  tides,  one  from  the  South  Sea,  and  the 
other  from  the  Indian  Ocean.  Of  each  of  these  tides  there  come  suc- 
cessively two  every  day  ;  two  at  one  time  greater,  and  two  at  another 
that  are  less.  The  time  between  the  arrival  of  the  two  greater,  is 
considered  by  him  as  high  tide ;  the  time  between  the  two  lesser,  as 
ebb.  In  short,  with  this  clue,  that  great  mathematician  solved  every 
appearance,  and  so  established  his  theory  as  to  silence  every  opposer 

This  fluctuation  of  the  sea  from  the  tides,  produces  another,  and 
more  constant  rotation  of  its  waters,  from  the  east  to  the  west,  in  this 
respect  following  the  course  of  the  moon.  This  may  be  considered  as 
one  great  and  general  current  of  the  waters  of  the  sea  ;  and  although 
it  be  not  every  where  distinguishable,  it  is  nevertheless  every  where 
existent,  except  when  opposed  by  some  particular  current  or  eddy 
produced  by  partial  and  local  causes.  This  tendency  of  the  sea  to- 
wards the  west,  is  plainly  perceivable  in  all  the  great  straits  of  the 
ocean  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  those  of  Magellan,  where  the  tide  running 
in  from  the  east,  rises  twenty  feet  high,  and  continues  flowing  six 
hours ;  whereas  the  ebb  continues  but  two  hours,  and  the  current  is 
directed  to  the  west.  This  proves  that  the  flux  is  not  equal  to  the  re- 
flux ;  and  that  from  both  results  a  motion  of  the  sea  westward,  which  is 
more  powerful  during  the  time  of  the  flux  than  the  reflux. 

But  this  motion  westward  has  been  sensibly  observed  by  navigators, 
in  their  passage  back  from  India  to  Madagascar,  and  so  on  to  Africa. 
In  the  great  Pacific  Ocean  also  it  is  very  perceivable  ;  but  the  places 
where  it  is  most  obvious,  are,  as  was  said,  in  those  straits  which  join  one 
ocean  to  another.  In  the  straits  between,  the  Maldivia  islands,  in  the 
gulf  of  Mexico,  between  Cuba  and  Jucatan.  In  the  straits  of  the 
gulf  of  Paria,  the  motion  is  so  violent,  that  it  hath  received  the  appel- 
lation of  the  Dragon's  Mouth.  Northward,  in  the  sea  of  Canada,  in 
Waigat's  straits,  in  the  straits  of  Java,  and  in  short,  in  every  strait 
where  the  ocean  on  one  part  pours  into  the  ocean  on  the  other.  In 
this  manner,  therefore,  is  the  sea  carried  with  an  unceasing  circula- 
tion round  the  globe  ;  and,  at  the  same  time  that  its  waters  are  poshed 

*  Qtiintus  Curtius. 


THE  EARTH.  107 

b.uk  ar  J  forward  with  the  tide,  they  have  thus  a  progressive  curreru 
to  the  west,  which  though  less  observable,  is  not  the  less  real. 

Besides  these  two  general  motions  of  the  sea,  there  are  others  which 
are  particular  to  many  parts  of  it,  and  are  called  currents.  Theso  are 
found  to  run  in  all  directions,  east,  west,  north,  and  south  ;  being  form- 
ed, as  was  said  above,  by  various  causes ;  the  prominence  of  thu 
shores,  the  narrowness  of  the  straits,  the  variation  of  the  wind,  and  the 
inequalities  at  the  bottom.  These,  though  no  great  object  to  the  phi- 
losopher, as  their  causes  are  generally  local  and  obvious,  are  never- 
theless of  the  most  material  consequence  to  the  mariner  ;  and,  without 
a  knowledge  of  which,  he  could  never  succeed.  It  oflen  has  happen- 
ed, that  when  a  ship  has  unknowingly  got  into  one  of  these,  every 
thing  seems  to  go  forward  with  success,  the  mariners  suppose  them- 
selves every  hour  approaching  their  wished-for  port,  the  wind  fills 
their  sails,  and  the  ship's  prow  seems  to  divide  the  water  ;  but,  at  last, 
by  miserable  experience  they  find,  that  instead  of  going  forward,  they 
have  been  all  the  time  receding.  The  business  of  currents,  therefore, 
makes  a  considerable  article  in  navigation ;  and  the  direction  of  their 
stream,  and  their  rapidity,  has  been  carefully  set  down.  This  some 
do  by  the  observation  of  the  surface  of  the  current ;  or  by  the  driving 
of  the  froth  along  the  shore  ;  or  by  throwing  out  what  is  called  the 
log-line,  with  a  buoy  made  for  that  purpose,  and  by  the  direction  and 
motion  of  this,  they  judge  of  the  setting  and  the  rapidity  of  the  current. 

These  currents  are  generally  found  to  be  most  violent  under  the 
equator,  where  indeed  all  the  motions  of  the  ocean  are  most  perceivable. 
Along  the  coasts  of  Guinea,  if  a  ship  happens  to  overshoot  the  mouth  of 
any  river  it  is  bound  to,  the  current  prevents  its  return  ;  so  that  it  is 
obliged  to  steer  out  to  sea,  and  take  a  very  large  compass,  in  order  to 
correct  the  former  mistake.  These  set  in  a  contrary  direction  to  the 
general  motion  of  the  sea  westward  ;  and  that  so  strongly,  that  a  pas- 
sage which,  with  the  current,  is  made  in  two  days,  is  with  difficulty 
performed  in  six  weeks  against  it.  However,  they  do  not  extend 
above  twenty  leagues  from  the  coast ;  and  ships  going  to  the  East  In- 
dies, take  care  not  to  come  within  the  sphere  of  their  action.  At  Su- 
matra, the  currents,  which  are  extremely  rapid,  run  from  south  to 
north  :  there  are  also  strong  currents  between  Madagascar  and  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope.  On  the  western  coasts  of  America,  the  current 
always  runs  from  the  south  to  the  north,  where  a  south  wind,  con 
tinually  blowing,  most  probably  occasions  this  phenomenon.  But  the 
currents  that  are  most  remarkable,  are  those  continually  flowing  in 
the  Mediterranean  sea,  both  from  the  ocean  by  the  straits  of  Gibral- 
tar, and  at  its  other  extremity,  from  the  Euxine  sea  by  the  Archipe- 
lago. This  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  appearances  in  nature , 
this  large  sea  receiving  not  only  the  numerous  rivers  that  fall  into  it^ 
such  as  the  Nile,  the  Rhone,  and  the  Po,  but  also  a  very  great  infhu 
from  the  Euxine  sea  on  one  part,  and  the  ocean  on  the  other.  At  tha 
same  time,  it  is  seen  to  return  none  of  those  waters  it  is  thus  known 
to  receive.  Outlets  running  from  it  fhere  are  none  ;  no  rivers  but 
such  as  bring  it  fresh  supplies ;  no  straits  but  what  are  constantly 
pouring  their  waters  into  it :  it  has,  therefore,  been  the  wonder  o} 
mankind  in  every  age,  how,  and  by  what  means,  this  vast  concours» 


ir.8  A  HISTORY  OF 

of  waters  are  disposed  of;  or  how  this  sea,  which  is  always  rer.en  ing, 
and  never  returning,  is  no  way  fuller  than  before.  In  order  to  ac- 
count for  this,  some  have  said,  that  the  water  was  reconveyed  by  sub- 
terraneous passages  into  the  Red  Sea.*  There  is  a  story  told  of  an 
Arabian  califf,  who  caught  a  dolphin  in  this  sea,  admiring  the  beauty 
of  which,  he  let  it  go  again,  having  previously  marked  it  by  a  ring  of 
iron.  Some  time  after  a  dolphin  was  caught  in  the  Red  Sea,  and 
quickly  known  by  the  ring  to  be  the  same  that  had  been  taken  in  tho 
Mediterranean  before.  Such,  however,  as  have  not  been  willing  to 
found  their  opinions  upon  a  story,  have  attempted  to  account  for  the 
disposal  of  the  waters  of  the  Mediterranean  by  evaporation.  For  this 
purpose  they  have  entered  into  long  calculations  upon  the  extent  of 
its  surface,  and  the  quantity  of  water  that  would  be  raised  from  such 
a  surface  in  a  year.  They  then  compute  how  much  water  runs  in  by 
its  rivers  and  straits  in  that  time ;  and  find,  that  the  quantity  exhaust- 
ed by  evaporation,  greatly  exceeds  the  quantity  supplied  by  rivers 
and  seas.  This  solution,  no  doubt,  would  be  satisfactory,  did  not  the 
ocean,  and  the  Euxine,  evaporate  as  well  as  the  Mediterranean  :  and  as 
t'-ese  are  subject  to  the  same  drain,  it  must  follow,  that  all  the  seas 
>ill  in  this  respect  be  upon  a  par  ;  and,  therefore,  there  must  be 
some  other  cause  for  this  unperceived  drain,  and  continual  supply 
This  seems  to  be  satisfactorily  enough  accounted  for  by  Dr.  Smith, 
who  supposes  an  under  current  running  through  the  straits  of  Gibral- 
tar to  carry  out  as  much  water  into  the  ocean,  as  the  upper  current 
continually  carries  in  from  it.  To  confirm  this,  he  observes,  that 
nearer  home,  between  the  north  and  the  south  foreland,  the  tide  is 
known  to  run  one  way  at  top,  and  the  ebb  another  way  at  bottom. 
This  double  current  he  also  confirms  by  an  experiment  communicated 
to  him  by  an  able  seaman,  who  being  with  one  of  the  king's  frigates 
in  the  Baltic,  found  he  went  with  his  boat  into  the  mid-stream,  and  was 
carried  violently  by  the  current ;  upon  which  a  basket  was  sunk,  with 
a  large  cannon-ball,  to  a  certain  depth  of  water,  which  gave  a  check 
to  the  boat's  motion  ;  as  the  basket  sunk  still  lower,  the  boat  was 
driven,  by  the  force  of  the  water  below,  against  the  upper  current ; 
and  the  lower  the  basket  «  is  let  Jjwn,  the  stronger  the  under  current 
was  found,  aaj  .he  quicker  was  the  boat's  motion  against  the  upper 
stream,  which  seemed  not  to  be  above  four  fathom  deep.  From  hence 
we  readily  infer,  that  the  same  cause  may  operate  at  the  straits  of  Gib- 
raltar ;  and  that  while  the  Mediterranean  seems  replenishing  at  top, 
it  may  be  emptying  at  bottom. 

The  number  of  the  currents  at  sea  are  impossible  to  be  recounted, 
nor  indeed  are  they  always  known  ;  new  ones  are  daily  produced  by 
a  variety  of  causes,  and  as  quickly  disappear.  When  a  regular  cur 
rent  is  opposed  by  another  in  a  narrow  strait,  or  where  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  is  very  uneven,  a  whirlpool  is  often  formed.  These  were 
formerly  considered  as  the  most  formidable  obstructions  to  naviga- 
tion ;  and  the  ancient  poets  and  historians  speak  of  them  with  terror  ; 
chey  are  described  as  swallowing  up  ships,  and  dashing  them  against 
ihe  rocks  at  the  bottom  :  apprehension  did  not  fail  to  add  imaginary 

*  Ki-cl.cr  Mundt.  Subt.  voL  L 


THE  EARTH.  101) 

terrors  to  tne  description,  and  placed  at  the  centre  of  the  whirlpool  o 
dreadful  den,  fraught  with  monsters  whose  howlings  served  to  add 
new  norrors  to  the  dashings  of  the  deep.  Mankind  at  present,  how- 
ever, view  these  eddies  of  the  sea  with  verv  little  apprehension  ;  and 
some  "rave  wondered  how  the  ancients  could  have  so  much  overcharged 
their  descriptions.  But  all  this  is  very  naturally  accounted  for.  In 
those  times  when  navigation  was  in  its  infancy,  and  the  slightest  con- 
cussion of  the  waves  generally  sent  the  poor  adventurer  to  the  bottom, 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  was  terrified  at  the  violent  agita- 
tions in  one  of  these.  When  his  little  ship,  but  ill  fitted  for  opposing 
the  fury  of  the  sea,  was  got  within  the  vortex,  there  was  then  no  possi- 
bility of  ever  returning.  To  add  to  the  fatality,  they  were  always 
near  the  shore  ;  and  along  the  shore  was  the  only  place  where  this 
ill-provided  mariner  durst  venture  to  sail.  These  were,  therefore, 
dreadful  impediments  to  his  navigation  ;  for  if  he  attempted  to  pass 
between  them  and  the  shore,  he  was  sometimes  sucked  in  by  the  eddy ; 
and  if  he  attempted  to  avoid  them  out  at  sea,  he  was  often  sunk  by  the 
storm.  But  in  our  time,  and  in  our  present  improved  state  of  naviga- 
tion, Charybdis,  and  the  Euripus,  with  all  the  other  irregular  currents 
of  the  Mediterranean,  are  no  longer  formidable.  Mr.  Addison,  not 
attending  to  this  train  of  thinking,  upon  passing  through  the  straits  of 
Sicily,  was  surprised  at  the  little  there  was  of  terror  in  the  present 
appearance  of  Scylla  and  Charybdis ;  and  seems  to  be  of  opinion, 
that  their  agitations  are  much  diminished  since  the  times  of  antiquity. 
In  fact,  from  the  reasons  above,  all  the  wonders  of  the  Mediterranean 
sea  are  described  in  much  higher  colours  than  they  merit,  to  us  who 
are  acquainted  with  the  more  magnificent  terrors  of  the  ocean.  The 
Mediterranean  is  one  of  the  smoothest  and  most  gentle  seas  in  the 
world  :  its  tides  are  scarce  perceivable,  except  in  the  gulf  of  Venice, 
and  shipwrecks  are  less  known  there  than  in  any  other  part  of  tho 
world. 

It  is  in  the  ocean,  therefore,  that  these  whirlpools  are  particularly 
dangerous,  where  the  tides  are  violent,  and  the  tempests  fierce.  To 
mention  only  one,  that  called  the  Maelstroom,  upon  the  coasts  of  Nor- 
way, which  is  considered  as  the  most  dreadful  and  voracious  in  the 
world.  The  name  it  has  received  from  the  natives,  signifies  the  navel 
of  the  sea  ;  since  they  suppose  that  a  great  share  of  the  water  of  the 
sea  is  sucked  up  and  discharged  by  its  vortex.  A  minute  description 
of  the  internal  parts  is  not  to  be  expected,  since  none  who  were  there 
ever  returned  to  bring  back  information.  The  body  of  the  waters 
that  form  this  whirlpool,  are  extended  in  a  circle  above  thirteen 
miles  in  circumference.*  In  the  midst  of  this  stands  a  rock,  against 
which  the  tide  in  its  ebb  is  dashed  with  inconceivable  fury.  At  this 
time  it  instantly  swallows  up  all  things  that  come  within  the  sphere  of.1 
its  violence,  trees,  timber,  and  shipping.  No  skill  in  the  mariner,  nor 
strength  of  rowing,  can  work  an  escape :  the  sailor  at  the  helm  find? 
the  ship  at  first  go  in  a  current  opposite  to  his  intentions  ;  his  vessel's 
motion,  though  slow  in  the  beginning,  becomes  every  moment  more 
rapid  ;  it  goes  round  in  circles  still  narrower  and  narrower,  till  at  bis' 

»  Kircher,  Mund.  Subt.  vol.  i.  p.  155. 


no  A  HISTORY  OF 

::  is  drilled  against  the  rocks,  and  instantly  disappears :  nor  is  it 
seen  again  for  six  hours;  till  the  tide  flowing,  it  is  vomited  forth  with 
tne  same  violence  with  which  it  was  drawn  in.  The  noise  of  this 
dreadful  vortex  still  farther  contributes  to  increase  its  terror,  which, 
with  the  dashing  of  the  waters,  and  the  dreadful  valley,  if  it  may  be 
so  called,  caused  by  their  circulation,  makes  one  of  the  most  tremen- 
dous objects  in  nature. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

OF  THE  CHANGES  PRODUCED  BY  THE  SEA  UPON  THE  EARTH. 

FROM  what  has  been  said,  as  well  of  the  earth  as  of  the  sea,  they 
both  appear  to  be  in  continual  fluctuation.  The  earth,  the  common 
promptuary  that  supplies  subsistence  to  men,  animals,  and  vegetables, 
is  continually  furnishing  its  stores  to  their  support.  But  the  matter 
which  is  thus  derived  from  it,  is  soon  restored  and  laid  down  again  to 
be  prepared  for  fresh  mutations.  The  transmigration  of  souls  is,  no 
doubt,  false  and  whimsical ;  but  nothing  can  be  more  certain  than  the 
transmigration  of  bodies :  the  spoils  of  the  meanest  reptile  may  go  to 
the  formation  of  a  prince ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  as  the  poet  has  it, 
the  body  of  Caesar  may  be  employed  in  stopping  a  beer-barrel.  From 
this,  and  other  causes,  therefore,  the  earth  is  in  continual  change.  Its 
internal  fires,  the  deviation  of  its  rivers,  and  the  falling  of  its  moun 
tains,  are  daily  altering  its  surface  ;  and  geography  can  scarce  recol 
lect  the  lakes  and  the  valleys  that  history  once  described. 

But  these  changes  are  nothing  to  the  instability  of  the  ocean.  It 
would  seem  that  inquietude  was  as  natural  to  it  as  its  fluidity.  It  is 
first  seen  with  a  constant  and  equable  motion  going  towards  the  west ; 
the  tides  then  interrupt  this  progression,  and  for  a  time  drive  the 
waters  in  a  contrary  direction  ;  besides  these  agitations,  the  currents 
act  their  part  in  a  smaller  sphere,  being  generally  greatest  where  the 
other  motions  of  the  sea  are  least ;  namely,  nearest  the  shore :  the 
winds  also  contribute  their  share  in  this  universal  fluctuation  ;  so  that 
scarcely  any  part  of  the  sea  is  wholly  seen  to  stagnate. 

Nil  enini  qu'iescit,  undis  impellitur  unda, 
Et  spiritus  et  calor  toto  se  corpore  miscent. 

As  this  great  element  is  thus  changed,  and  continually  labouring  In- 
ternally, it  may  be  readily  supposed  that  it  produces  correspondent 
changes  upon  its  shores,  and  those  parts  of  the  earth  subject  to  its  in' 
fluence.  In  fact  it  is  every  day  making  considerable  alterations,  either 
by  overflowing  its  shores  in  one  place,  or  deserting  them  in  others;  hy 
covering  over  whole  tracts  of  country  that  were  cultivated  and  peo- 
pled, at  one  time  ;  or  by  leaving  its  bed  to  be  appropriated  to  the 
purposes  of  vegetation,  and  to  supply  a  new  theatre  for  human  indus- 
try, at  another. 

In  this  struggle  between  the  earth  and  the  sea  for  dominion,  the 
greatest  number  of  our  shores  seem  to  defy  the  whole  rage  of  tho 
waves,  both  hy  their  height,  and  the  rocky  materials  of  which  they 


THE  EARTH.  Ill 

are  composed.  The  coasts  of  Italy,  for  instance,*  are  bordered  with 
rocks  of  marble  of  different  kinds,  the  quarries  of  which  may  easily 
be  distinguished  at  a  distance  from  sea,  and  appear  like  perpendicu- 
lar columns  of  the  most  beautiful  kinds  of  marble,  ranged  along  the 
shore.  In  general,  the  coasts  of  France,  from  Brest  to  Bourdeaux, 
are  composed  of  rocks;  as  are  also  those  of  Spain  and  England, 
which  defend  the  land,  and  only  are  interrupted,  here  and  there,  to 
give  an  egress  to  rivers,  and  to  grant  the  conveniences  of  bays  and 
harbours  to  our  shipping.  It  may  in  general  be  remarked,  that 
wherever  the  sea  is  most  violent  and  furious,  there  the  boldest  shores, 
and  of  the  most  compact  materials,  are  found  to  oppose  it  There 
are  many  shores  several  hundred  feet  perpendicular,  against  which 
the  sea,  when  swollen  with  tides  or  storms,  rises  and  beats  with  in- 
conceivable fury.  In  the  Orkneys,!  where  the  shores  are  thus  form- 
ed, it  sometimes,  when  agitated  by  a  storm,  rises  two  hundred  feet 
perpendicular,  and  dashes  up  its  spray,  together  with  sand  and  other 
substances  that  compose  its  bottom,  upon  land,  like  showers  of  rain. 

From  hence,  therefore,  we  may  conceive  how  the  violence  of  the 
sea,  and  the  boldness  of  the  shore,  may  be  said  to  have  made  each 
other.  Where  the  sea  meets  no  obstacles,  it  spreads  its  waters  with 
a  gentle  intumescence,  till  all  its  power  is  destroyed,  by  wanting 
depth  to  aid  the  motion.  But  when  its  progress  is  checked  in  the 
midst,  by  the  prominence  of  rocks,  or  the  abrupt  elevation  of  the 
land,  it  dashes  with  all  the  force  of  its  depth  against  the  obstacle,  and 
forms,  by  its  repeated  violence,  that  abruptness  of  *he  shore  which 
confines  its  impetuosity.  Where  the  sea  is  extremely  deep,  or  very 
much  vexed  by  tempests,  it  is  .no  small  obstacle  that  can  confine  its 
rage ;  and  for  this  reason  we  see  the  boldest  shores  projected  against 
the  deepest  waters;  all  less  impediments  having  long  before  been  sur- 
mounted and  washed  away.  Perhaps  of  all  the  shores  in  the  world, 
there  is  not  one  so  high  as  that  on  the  west  of  St.  Kilda,  which,  upon 
a  late  admeasurement,!  was  found  to  be  six  hundred  fathoms  perpen- 
dicular above  the  surface  of  the  sea.  Here  also,  the  sea  is  deep,  tur- 
bulent, and  stormy ;  so  that  it  requires  great  force  in  the  shore  to 
oppose  its  violence.  In  many  parts  of  the  world,  and  particularly 
upon  the  coasts  of  the  East  Indies,  the  shores,  though  not  hign  above 
water,  are  generally  very  deep,  and  consequently  the  waves  roll 
against  the  land  with  great  weight  and  irregularity.  The  rising  of 
the  waves  against  the  shore,  is  called  by  mariners  the  surf  of  the  sea  ; 
and  in  shipwrecks  is  generally  fatal  to  such  as  attempt  to  swim  on 
shore.  In  this  case  no  dexterity  in  the  swimmer,  no  float  he  can  use, 
neither  swimming-girdle  nor  cork-jacket  will  save  him;  the  weight  of 
the  superincumbent  waves  breaks  upon  him  at  once,  and  crushes  him 
with  certain  ruin.  Some  few  of  the  natives,  however,  have  the  art 
of  swimming  and  of  navigating  their  little  boats  near  those  shores 
where  a  European  is  sure  of  instant  destruction. 

In  places  where  the  force  of  the  sea  is  less  violent,  or  its  tiles  less 
rapid,  the  shores  are  generally  seen  to  descend  with  a  more  gradual 
declivity.  Over  these,  the  waters  of  the  tide  steal  by  almost  imper 

*  Buffon,  vol.  ii.  p.  199.        f  Ibid.  vol.  ii.  p.  191.         {  Description  of  St.  Kilda 


112  A  HISTORY  OF 

ceptible  degrees,  covering  them  for  a  large  extent,  and  leaving  then* 
bare  on  its  recess.  Upon  these  shores,  as  was  said,  the  sea  seldom 
beats  with  any  great  violence,  as  a  large  wave  has  not  depth  sufficient 
to  float  it  onwards,  so  that  here  only  are  to  be  seen  gentle  surges 
making  calmly  towards  land,  and  lessening  as  they  approach.  As 
the  sea,  in  the  former  description,  is  generally  seen  to  present  pros- 
pects of  tumult  and  uproar,  here  it  more  usually  exhibits  a  scene  of 
repose  and  tranquil  beauty.  Its  waters  which,  when  surveyed  from 
the  precipice,  afforded  a  muddy  greenish  hue,  arising  from  their  depth 
and  position  to  the  eye*,  when  regarded  from  a  shelving  shore  wear 
the  colour  of  the  sky,  and  seem  rising  to  meet  it.  The  deafening 
noise  of  the  deep  sea,  is  here  converted  into  gentle  murmurs  ;  instead 
of  the  water  dashing  against  the  face  of  the  rock,  it  advances  and  re- 
cedes, still  going  forward,  but  with  just  force  enough  to  push  its  weeds 
and  shells,  by  insensible  approaches,  to  the  shore. 

There  are  other  shores,  besides  those  already  described,  which 
either  have  been  raised  by  art,  to  oppose  the  sea's  approaches,  or, 
from  the  sea's  gaining  ground,  are  threatened  with  imminent  destruc- 
tion. The  sea's  being  thus  seen  to  give  and  take  away  lands  at  plea- 
sure, is,  without  question,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  considerations 
in  all  natural  history.  In  some  places  it  is  seen  to  obtain  the  superi- 
ority by  slow  and  certain  approaches ;  or  to  burst  in  at  once,  and 
overwhelm  all  things  in  undistinguished  destruction ;  in  other  places 
it  departs  from  its  shores,  and  where  its  waters  have  been  known  to 
rage,  it  leaves  fields  covered  with  the  most  beautiful  verdure. 

The  formation  of  new  lands  by  the  sea's  continually  bringing  its 
sediment  to  one  place,  and  by  the  accumulation  of  its  sands  in  an- 
other, is  easily  conceived.  We  have  had  many  instances  of  this  in 
England.  The  island  of  Oxney,  which  is  adjacent  to  Romney-marsh, 
was  produced  in  this  manner.  This  had  for  a  long  time  been  a  low 
Jevel,  continually  in  danger  of  being  overflown  by  the  river  Rother ; 
iut  the  sea,  by  its  depositions,  has  gradually  raised  the  bottom  of  the 
riv.er,  while  it  has  hollowed  the  mouth  ;  so  that  the  one  is  sufficiently 
secured  from  inundations,  and  the  other  is  deep  enough  to  admit  ships 
of  considerable  burthen.  The  like  also  may  be  seen  at  that  bank 
called  the  Doggersands,  where  two  tides  meet,  and  which  thus  re- 
ceives new  increase  every  day,  so  that  in  time  the  place  seems  to 
promise  fair  for  being  habitable  earth.  On  many  parts  of  the  coasts 
of  France,  England,  Holland,  Germany,  and  Prussia,  the  sea  has  been 
sensibly  known  to  retire.t  Hubert  Thomas  asserts,  in  his  Descrip- 
tion of  the  Country  of  Liege,  that  the  sea  formerly  encompassed  the 
city  of  Tongres,  which,  however,  is  at  present  thirty-five  leagues  dis- 
tant from  it.  this  assertion  he  supports  by  many  strong  reasons;  and 
among  others,  by  the  iron  rings  fixed  in  the  walls  of  the  town,  for 
fastening  the  ships  that  came  into  the  port.  In  Italy  there  is  a  con- 
siderable piece  of  ground  gained  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Arno;  and 
Ravenna,  that  once  stood  bv  the  sea-side,  is  now  considerably  re- 
moved from  it.  But  we  ueuu  scarce  mention  these,  when  we  find 
that  the  whole  republic  of  Holland  seems  to  be  a  conquest  upon  th« 

»  Nswton's  Optic's,  p.  133—167.  f  Buffon,  vol.  vi.  p.  424 


THE  EARTH.  m 

Rea,  and,  in  a  manner,  rescued  from  its  bosom.  The  surface  of  the 
earth,  in  this  country,  is  below  the  level  of  the  bed  of  the  sea;  ami 
f  remember,  upon  approaching  the  coast,  to  have  looked  down  upon 
it  from  the  sea,  as  into  a  valley ;  however,  it  is  every  day  rising 
higher  by  the  depositions  made  upon  it  by  the  sea,  the  Rhine,  and 
(lie  Meuse;  and  those  parts  which  formerly  admitted  large  men  01 
war,  are  now  known  to  be  too  shallow  to  receive  ships  of  very  mode- 
rn) e  burthen.*  The  province  of  Jucatan,  a  peninsula  in  the  gulf  of 
Mexico,  was  formerly  a  part  of  the  sea.  This  tract,  which  stretches 
out  into  the  ocean  a  hundred  leagues,  and  which  is  above  thirty 
broad,  is  every  where,  at  a  moderate  depth  below  the  surface,  com- 
posed of  shells,  which  evince  that  its  land  once  formed  the  bed  of 
the  sea.  In  France,  the  town  of  Aigues  Mortes  was  a  port  in  the 
time  of  St.  Louis,  which  is  now  removed  more  than  four  miles  from 
the  sea. — Psalmodi,  in  the  same  kingdom,  was  an  island  in  the  year 
815,  but  is  now  more  than  six  miles  from  the  shore.  All  along  the 
coasts  of  Norfolk,  I  am  very  well  assured,  that  in  the  memory  of  man 
the  sea  has  gained  fifty  yards  in  some  places,  and  lost  as  much  in  others. 

Thus  numerous,  therefore,  are  the  instances  of  new  lands  having 
been  produced  from  the  sea,  which,  as  we  see,  is  brought  about  two 
different  ways :  first,  by  the  waters  raising  banks  of  sand  and  mud  where 
their  sediment  is  deposited  ;  and,  secondly,  by  their  relinquishing  tho 
shore  entirely,  and  leaving  it  unoccupied  to  the  industry  of  man. 

But  as  the  sea  has  been  thus  known  to  recede  from  some  lands,  so 
has  it,  by  fatal  experience,  been  found  to  encroach  upon  others  ;  and 
probably  these  depredations  on  one  part  of  the  shore,  may  account 
for  their  dereliction  from  another  ;  for  the  current  which  rested  upon 
some  certain  bank,  having  got  an  egress  in  some  other  place,  it  no 
longer  presses  upon  its  former  bed,  but  pours  all  its  stream  into  the 
Hew  entrance  ;  so  that  every  inundation  of  the  sea  may  be  attended 
with  some  correspondent  dereliction  of  another  shore. 

However  this  be,  we  have  numerous  histories  of  the  sea's  inunda- 
tions, and  its  burying  whole  provinces  in  its  bosom.  Many  countries 
that  have  been  thus  destroyed,  bear  melancholy  witness  to  the  truth 
of  history  ;  and  show  the  tops  of  their  houses,  and  the  spires  of  their 
steeples,  still  standing  at  the  bottom  of  the  water.  One  of  the  most 
considerable  inundations  we  have  in  history,  is  that  which  happened 
in  the  reign  of  Henry  1.  which  overflowed  the  estates  of  the  Earl 
Godwin,  and  forms  now  that  bank  called  the  Goodwin  Sands.  In  the 
year  1546,  a  similar  eruption  of  the  sea  destroyed  a  hundred  thousand 
persons  in  the  territory  of  Dort  ;  and  yet  a  greater  number  round 
Dullart.  In  Friezland,  and  Zealand,  there  were  more  than  three  hun- 
dred villages  overwhelmed  ;  and  their  ruins  continue  still  visible  at  the 
bottom  of  the  water  in  a  clear  day.  The  Baltic  sea  has,  by  slow  de 
grees,  covered  a  large  part  of  Pomerania ;  and,  among  others,  destroyed 
and  overwhelmed  the  famous  port  of  Vineta.  In  the  same  manner, 
the  Norwegian  sea  has  formed  several  little  islands  from  the  main 
land,  and  still  daily  advances  upon  the  continent.  The  German  sea  has 
advanced  upon  the  shores  of  Holland,  near  Catt ;  so  that  the  ruins  of 

«  Buffon,  vol.  vi.  p.  424 
VOL.  I  H 


114  A  HISTORY  OF 

in  ancient  citadel  of  the  Romans,  which  was  formerly  built  upon  this 
coast,  are  now  actually  under  water.  To  these  accidents  several  more 
might  be  added  ;  our  own  historians,  and  those  of  other  countries, 
abound  with  them ;  almost  every  flat  shore  of  any  extent,  being  able 
to  show  something  that  it  has  lost,  or  something  that  it  has  gained 
from  the  sea. 

There  are  some  shores  on  which  the  sea  has  made  temporary 
depredations  ;  where  it  has  overflowed,  and  after  remaining  perhaps 
some  ages,  it  has  again  retired  of  its  own  accord,  or  been  driven  back 
by  the  industry  of  man.*  There  are  many  lands  in  Norway,  Scot- 
land, and  the  Maldivia  Islands,  that  are  at  one  time  covered  with  wa- 
ter, and  at  another  free.  The  country  round  the  isle  of  Ely,  in  the 
time  of  Bede,  about  a  thousand  years  ago,  was  one  of  the  most  de- 
lightful spots  in  the  whole  kingdom  ;  it  was  not  only  richly  cultivated, 
and  produced  all  the  necessaries  of  life,  but  grapes  also,  that  afforded 
excellent  wine.  The  accounts  of  that  time  are  copious  in  the  descrip- 
tion of  its  verdure  and  fertility  ;  its  rich  pastures  covered  with  flow- 
ers and  herbage ;  its  beautiful  shades,  and  wholesome  air.  But  the 
sea,  breaking  in  upon  the  land,  overwhelmed  the  whole  country,  took 
possession  of  the  soil,  and  totally  destroyed  one  of  the  most  fertile 
valleys  in  the  world.  Its  air,  from  being  dry  and  healthful,  from  that 
time  became  most  unwholesome,  and  clogged  with  vapours ;  and  the 
small  part  of  the  country  that,  by  being  higher  than  the  rest,  escaped 
the  deluge,  was  soon  rendered  uninhabitable,  from  its  noxious  vapours. 
Thus  this  country  continued  under  water  for  some  centuries  ;  till  at 
last  the  sea,  by  the  same  caprice  which  had  prompted  its  invasions, 
began  to  abandon  the  earth  in  like  manner.  It  has  continued  for  some 
ages  to  relinquish  its  former  conquests ;  and  although  the  inhabitants 
can  neither  boast  the  longevity,  nor  the  luxuries  of  their  former  pre- 
occupants,  yet  they  find  ample  means  of  subsistence  ;  and  if  they  hap- 
pen to  survive  the  first  years  of  their  residence  there,  they  are  often 
known  to  arrive  at  a  good  old  age. 

But  although  history  be  silent  as  to  many  other  inundations  of  the 
like  kind,  where  the  sea  has  overflowed  the  country,  and  afterwards 
retired,  yet  we  have  numberless  testimonies  of  another  nature,  that 
prove  it  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt :  I  mean  those  numerous  trees 
that  are  found  buried  at  considerable  depths  in  places  where  either  rivers 
or  the  sea  has  accidentally  overflown.t  At  the  mouth  of  the  river  Ness, 
near  Bruges,  in  Flanders,  at  the  depth  of  fifty  feet,  are  found  great 
quantities  of  trees  lying  as  close  to  each  other  as  they  do  in  a  wood  :  the 
trunks,  the  branches,  and  the  leaves,  are  in  such  perfect  preservation, 
that  the  particular  kind  of  each  tree  may  instantly  be  known.  About 
five  hundred  years  ago,  this  very  ground  was  known  to  have  been 
covered  with  the  sea ;  nor  is  there  any  history  or  tradition  of  its  hav- 
ing been  dry  ground,  which  we  can  have  no  douot  must  have  been 
the  case.  Thus  we  see  a  country  flourishing  in  verdure,  producing 
large  forests,  and  trees  of  various  kinds,  overwhelmed  by  the  sea. 
Wo  see  this  element  depositing  its  sediment  to  a  height  of  fifty  feet ; 
and  its  waters  must,  therefore,  nave  risen  much  higher.  Wt  see  th« 

*  Bnfibn,  vol.  ii.  p.  425.  f  Ibid,  vol.  li.  p.  403 


THE  EARTH.  11? 

same,  after  it  has  thus  overwhelmed  and  sunk  the  land  so  deep  be- 
neath its  slime,  capriciously  retiring  from  the  same  coasts,  and  leaving 
that  habitable  once  more,  which  it  had  formerly  destroyed.  All  this 
is  wonderful  ;  and  perhaps,  instead  of  attempting  to  inquire  after  the 
cause,  which  has  hitherto  been  inscrutable,  it  will  best  become  us  to 
rest  satisfied  with  admiration. 

At  the  city  of  JVIodena  in  Italy,  and  about  four  miles  round  it, 
wherever  it  is  dug,  when  the  workmen  arrive  at  the  depth  of  sixty- 
three  feet,  they  come  to  a  bed  of  chalk,  which  they  bore  with  an  au- 
ger five  feet  deep :  they  then  withdraw  from  the  pit,  before  the  auger 
is  removed,  and  upon  its  extraction,  the  water  bursts  up  through  the 
aperture  with  great  violence,  and  quickly  fills  this  new-made  well, 
which  continues  full,  and  is  affected  neither  by  rains  nor  droughts. 
But  that  which  is  most  remarkable  in  this  operation,  is  the  layers  of 
earth  as  we  descend.  At  the  depth  of  fourteen  feet  are  found  the  ru- 
ns of  an  ancient  city,  paved  streets,  houses,  floors,  and  different  pieces 
jf  Mosaic.  Under  this  is  found  a  solid  earth,  that  would  induce  one  to 
think  had  never  been  removed  ;  however,  under  it  is  found  a  soft 
oozy  earth,  made  up  of  vegetables  ;  and  at  twenty-six  feer  depth,  large 
trees  entire,  such  as  walnut-trees,  with  the  walnuts  still  sticking  on  the 
stem,  and  their  leaves  and  branches  in  exact  preservation.  At  twen- 
ty-eight feet  deep,  a  soft  chalk  is  found,  mixed  with  a  vast  quantity 
sf  shells;  and  this  bed  is  eleven  feet  thick.  Under  this,  vegetables 
are  found  again,  with  leaves,  and  branches  of  trees  as  before  ;  and 
thus  alternately  chalk  and  vegetable  earth  to  the  depth  of  sixty-three 
feet.  These  are  the  layers  wherever  the  workmen  attempt  to  bore  ; 
while  in  many  of  them  they  also  find  pieces  of  charcoal,  bones,  and 
bits  of  iron.  Frojn  this  description,  therefore,  it  appears,  that  this 
country  has  been  alternately  overflowed  and  deserted  by  the  sea,  one 
age  after  another  :  nor  were  these  overflowings  and  retirings  of  trifling 
depth,  or  of  short  continuance.  When  the  sea  burst  in,  it  must  have 
been  a  long  time  in  overwhelming  the  branches  of  the  fallen  forest 
with  its  sediment ;  and  still  longer  in  forming  a  regular  bed  of  shells 
eleven  feet  over  them.  It  must  have,  therefore,  taken  an  age,  at  least, 
to  make  any  one  of  these  layers ;  and  we  may  conclude,  that  it  must 
have  been  many  ages  employed  in  the  production  of  them  all.  The 
land  also,  upon  being  deserted,  must  have  had  time  to  grow  compact, 
to  gather  fresh  fertility,  and  to  be  drained  of  its  waters  before  it  could 
be  disposed  to  vegetation,  or  before  its  trees  could  have  shot  forth 
again  to  maturity. 

We  have  instances  nearer  home  of  the  same  kind  given  us  in  the 
Philosophical  Transactions  ;  one  of  them  by  Mr.  Derham.  An  inunda- 
tion of  the  sea,  at  Dagenham,  in  Essex,  laying  bare  a  part  of  the  ad- 
jacent pasture  for  about  two  hundred  feet  wide,  and,  in  some  places, 
twenty  deep,  it  discovered  a  number  of  trees  that  had  lain  there  for 
many  ages  before ;  these  trees,  by  laying  long  under  ground,  were 
become  black  and  hard,  and  their  fibres  so  tough,  that  one  might  as 
easily  break  a  wire,  as  any  of  them  :  they  lay  so  thick  in  the  place 
where  they  were  found,  that  in  many  parts  he  could  step  from  one  tr 
another :  he  conceived  also,  that  not  only  all  the  adjacent  marshes, 
for  several  hundred  acres,  were  covered  underneath  with  such  timber, 


116  A  HISTORY  OF 

but  abi  the  marshes  along  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  for  sevei  fi 
miles.  The  meeting  with  these  trees  at  such  depths,  he  ascribes  tc 
the  sediment  of  the  river,  and  the  tides,  which  constantly  washing 
over  them,  have  always  left  some  part  of  their  substance  behind,  so 
as,  by  repeated  alluvions,  to  work  a  bed  of  vegetable  earth  over  them, 
to  the  height  at  which  he  found  it. 

The  levels  of  Hatfield-Chace,  in  Yorkshire,  a  tract  above  eighteen 
thousand  acres,  which  was  yearly  overflown,  was  reduced  to  arable 
and  pasture-land,  by  one  sir  Cornelius  Vermusden,  a  Dutchman.  At 
the  bottom  of  this  wide  extent,  are  found  millions  of  the  roots  and 
bodies  of  trees,  of  such  as  this  island  either  formerly  did,  or  does  at 
present  produce.  The  roots  of  all  stand  in  their  proper  postures ; 
and  by  them,  as  thick  as  ever  they  could  grow,  the  respective  trunks 
of  each,  some  above  thirty  yards  long.  The  oaks,  some  of  which  have 
been  sold  for  fifteen  pounds  a  piece,  are  as  black  as  ebony,  very  last- 
ing, and  close  grained.  The  ash-trees  are  as  soft  as  earth,  and  are 
commonly  cut  in  pieces  by  the  workmen's  spades,  and  as  soon  as  flung 
up  into  the  open  air,  turn  to  dust.  But  all  the  rest,  even  the  willows 
themselves,  which  are  softer  than  the  ash,  preserve  their  substance 
and  texture  to  this  very  day.  Some  of  the  firs  appear  to  have  vege- 
tated, even  after  they  were  fallen,  and  to  have,  from  their  branches, 
struck  up  large  trees,  as  great  as  the  parent  trunk.  It  is  observable, 
that  many  of  these  trees  have  been  burnt,  some  quite  through,  some 
on  one  side,  some  have  been  found  chopped  and  squared,  others  riven 
with  great  wooden  wedges,  all  sufficiently  manifesting,  that  the  coun 
try  which  was  deluged  had  formerly  been  inhabited.  Near  a  great 
root  of  one  tree,  were  found  eight  coins  of  the  Roman  emperors  ;  and, 
in  some  places,  the  marks  of  the  ridge  and  furrow  were  plainly  per- 
ceivable, which  testified  that  the  ground  had  formerly  been  patient  of 
cultivation. 

The  learned  naturalist  who  has  given  this  description,*  has  pretty 
plainly  evinced,  that  this  forest,  in  particular,  must  have  been  thus 
levelled  by  the  Romans ;  and  that  the  falling  of  the  trees  must  have 
contributed  to  the  accumulation  of  the  waters.  "  The  Romans,"  says 
he,  "  when  the  Britons  fled,  always  pursued  them  into  the  fortresses 
of  low  woods,  and  miry  forests  :  in  these  the  wild  natives  found  shel- 
ter; and,  when  opportunity  offered,  issued  out,  and  fell  upon  their 
invaders  without  mercy.  In  this  manner  the  Romans  were  at  length 
so  harassed,  that  orders  were  issued  out  for  cutting  down  all  the  woods 
and  forests  in  Britain.  In  order  to  effect  this,  and  destroy  the  enemy 
the  easier,  they  set  fire  to  the  woods,  composed  of  pines,  and  other 
inflammable  timber,  which  spreading,  the  conflagration  destroyed  not 
only  the  forest,  but  infinite  numbers  of  the  wretched  inhabitants  who 
had  taken  shelter  therein.  When  the  pine-trees  had  thus  done  what 
mischief  they  could,  the  Romans  then  brought  their  army  nearer,  and, 
with  whole  legions  of  the  captive  Britons,  cut  down  most  of  the  trees 
that  were  yet  left  standing  ;  leaving  only  here  and  there  some  trees 
untouched,  as  monuments  of  their  fury.  These,  unneedful  of  their  la- 
bour, being  destitute  of  the  support  of  the  underwood,  and  of  theii 

«  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  iv.  part  ii.  p.  214. 


THE  EARTH.  11? 

leigbbouring  trees,  were  easily  overthrown  by  the  winds,  and,  without 
interruption,  remained  on  the  places  where  they  happened  to  fall. 
The  forest,  thus  fallen,  must  necessarily  have  stopped  up  the  currents, 
both  from  land  and  sea ;  and  turned  into  great  lakes,  what  were  be- 
fore but  temporary  streams.  The  working  of  the  waters  here,  the 
consumption  and  decay  of  rotten  boughs  and  branches,  and  the  vast 
increase  of  water-moss  which  flourishes  upon  marshy  grounds,  soon 
formed  a  covering  over  the  trunks  of  the  fallen  trees,  and  raised  the 
earth  several  feet  above  its  former  level.  The  earth  thus  every  day 
swelling,  by  a  continual  increase  from  the  sediment  of  the  waters,  and 
by  the  lightness  of  the  vegetable  substances  of  which  it  was  com- 
posed, soon  overtopt  the  waters  by  which  this  intumescence  was  at 
first  effected ;  so  that  it  entirely  got  rid  of  its  inundations,  or  only 
demanded  a  slight  assistance  from  man  for  that  purpose."  This  may 
be  the  origin  of  all  bogs,  which  are  performed  by  the  putrefactiou 
of  vegetable  substances,  mixed  with  the  mud  and  slime  deposited  by 
waters,  and  at  length  acquiring  a  sufficient  consistency. 

From  this  we  see  what  powerful  effects  the  sea  is  capable  of  pro- 
ducing upon  its  shores,  either  by  overflowing  some,  or  deserting 
others ;  by  altering  the  direction  of  these,  and  rendering  those  crag- 
gy and  precipitate,  which  before  were  shelving.  But  the  influence  it 
has  upon  these,  is  nothing  to  that  which  it  has  upon  that  great  body 
of  earth,  which  forms  its  bottom.  It  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  that 
the  greatest  wonders  are  performed,  and  the  most  rapid  changes  are 
produced  ;  it  is  there  that  the  motion  of  the  tides  and  the  currents  have 
their  whole  force,  and  agitate  the  substances  of  which  their  bed  is 
composed.  But  all  these  are  almost  wholly  hid  from  human  curiosi- 
ty ;  the  miracles  of  the  deep  are  performed  in  secret ;  and  we  have 
but  little  information  from  its  abysses,  excepi  what  we  receive  by  in- 
spection at  very  shallow  depths,  or  by  the  plummet,  or  from  divers, 
who  are  kown  to  descend  from  twenty  to  thirty  fathoms.* 

The  eye  can  reach  but  a  very  short  \vay  into  the  depths  of  the 
sea ;  and  that  only  when  its  surface  is  glassy  and  serene.  In  many 
seas  it  perceives  nothing  but  a  bright  sandy  plain  at  bottom,  extending 
for  several  hundred  miles,  without  an  intervening  object.  But  in 
others,  particularly  in  the  Red  Sea,  it  is  very  different :  the  whole 
bottom  of  this  extensive  bed  of  waters  is,  literally  speaking,  a  forest  of 
submarine  plants  and  corals,  formed  by  insects  for  their  habitation, 
sometimes  branching  out  to  a  great  extent. — Here  are  seen  the  mad- 
repores, the  sponges,  mosses,  sea-mushrooms,  and  other  marine  pro- 
ductions, covering  every  part  of  the  bottom;  so  that  some  have  even 
supposed  the  sea  to  have  taken  its  name  from  the  colour  of  its  plants 
below.  However,  these  plants  are  by  no  means  peculiar  to  this  sea, 
as  they  are  found  in  great  quantities  in  the  Persian  Gulf,  along  the 
coast  of  Africa,  and  those  of  Provence  and  Catalonia. 

The  bottom  of  many  parts  of  the  sea,  near  America,  presents  a  very 
cntferent,  though  a  very  beautiful  appearance.  This  is  covered  with 
vegetables,  which  make  it  look  as  green  as  a  meadow,  and  beneatb 
are  seen  thousands  of  turtles,  and  other  sea  animals,  feeding  thereon 

»  PhU.  Trans,  vol.  iv.  part  ii.  p.  192. 


U8  A  HISTORY  OF 

In  order  to  extend  our  knowledge  of  the  sea  to  greater  depths,  re- 
'•.ourse  has  been  had  to  the  plummet ;  which  is  generally  made  of  a 
iump  of  lead  of  about  forty  pounds  weight,  fastened  to  a  cord.*  This, 
however,  only  answers  in  moderate  depths  ;  for  when  a  deep  sea  is  to 
be  sounded,  the  matter  of  which  the  cord  is  composed,  being  lighter 
than  the  water,  floats  upon  it,  and  when  let  down  to  a  considerable 
depth,  its  length  so  increases  its  surface,  that  it  is  often  sufficient  te 
prevent  the  lead  from  sinking  ;  so  that  this  may  be  the  reason  that 
some?  parts  of  the  sea  are  said  to  have  no  bottom. 

In  general,  we  learn  from  the  plummet,  that  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
is  tolerably  even  where  it  has  been  examined ;  and  that  the  farther 
from  the  shore,  the  sea  is  in  general  the  deeper.  Notwithstanding,  in 
the  midst  of  a  great  and  unfathomable  ocean,  we  often  find  an  island 
raising  its  head,  and  singly  braving  its  fury.  Such  islands  may  be 
considered  as  the  mountains  of  the  deep  ;  and,  could  we  for  a  mo- 
ment imagine  the  waters  of  the  ocean  removed  or  dried  away,  we 
should  probably  find  the  inequalities  of  its  bed  resembling  those  that 
are  found  at  land.  Here  extensive  plains,  there  valleys,  and,  in  many 
places,  mountains  of  amazing  height.  M.  Buache  has  actually  given 
us  a  map  of  that  part  of  its  bottom,  which  lies  between  Africa  and 
America,  taken  from  the  several  soundings  of  mariners  :  in  it  we  find 
the  same  uneven  surface  that  we  do  upon  land,  the  same  eminences, 
itnd  the  same  depressions.  In  such  an  imaginary  prospect,  however, 
there  would  be  this  difference,  that  as  the  tops  of  land-mountains  ap- 
pear the  most  barren  and  rocky,  the  tops  of  sea-mountains  would  be 
found  the  most  verdant  and  fruitful. 

The  plummet,  which  thus  gives  us  some  idea  of  the  inequalities 
of  the  bottom,  leaves  us  totally  in  the  dark  as  to  every  other  par- 
ticular ;  recourse,  therefore,  has  been  had  to  divers :  these,  either 
being  bred  up  in  this  dangerous  way  of  life,  and  accustomed 
to  remain  some  time  under  water  without  breathing,  or  assisted 
by  means  of  a  diving-bell,  have  been  able  to  return  some  confused 
and  uncertain  accounts  of  the  places  below.  In  the  great  diving-bell 
improved  by  Dr.  Halley,  which  was  large  enough  to  contain  five  men, 
and  was  supplied  with  fresh  air  by  buckets,  that  alternately  rose  and 
fell,  they  descended  fifty  fathom.  In  this  huge  machine,  which  was 
let  down  from  the  mast  of  the  ship,  the  doctor  himself  went  down  to 
the  bottom,  where,  when  the  sea  was  clear,  and  especially  when  the 
sun  shone,  he  could  see  perfectly  well  to  write  or  read,  and  much  more 
to  take  up  any  thing  that  was  underneath  :  at  other  times,  when  the 
water  was  troubled  and  thick,  it  was  as  dark  as  night  below,  so  thai 
he  was  obliged  to  keep  a  candle  lighted  at  the  bottom.  But  there 
was  one  thing  very  remarkable,  that  the  water  which  from  above  was 
usually  seen  of  a  green  colour,  when  looked  at  from  below,  appeared 
to  him  of  a  very  different  one,  casting  a  redness  upon  one  of  his  hands, 
like  that  of  damask  roses  :t — a  proof  of  the  sea's  taking  its  colour  not 
from  any  thing  floating  in  it,  but  from  the  different  reflections  of  the 
lays  of  light.  Upon  the  whole,  the  accounts  we  have  received  from 
the  bottom,  by  this  contrivance,  are  but  few.  We  learn  from  it,  an<\ 

*  Boyle,  vol.  ii.  p.  5.  t  Newton's  Optics,  p.  56 


THE  EARTH.  HO 

irom  divers  in  general,  that  while  the  surface  of  the  sea  may  be  de- 
formed by  tempests,  it  is  usually  calm  and  temperate  below  ;*  that 
some  divers,  who  have  gone  down  when  the  weather  was  calm,  and 
came  up  when  it  was  tempestuous,  were  surprised  at  their  not  per 
ceiving  the  change  at  the  bottom.  This,  however,  must  not  be  sup 
posed  to  obtain  with  regard  to  the  tides,  and  the  currents,  as  they  art 
seen  constantly  shifting  their  bottom  ;  taking  their  bed  with  great  vi 
olence  from  one  place,  and  depositing  it  upon  another.  We  are  in- 
formed, also,  by  divers,  that  the  sea  grows  colder  in  proportion  as  they 
descend  to  the  bottom ;  that  as  far  as  the  sun's  rays  pierce,  it  is  influ- 
enced by  their  warmth ;  but  lower,  the  cold  becomes  almost  intolera- 
ble. A  person  of  quality,  who  had  been  himself  a  diver,  as  Mr.  Boyle 
informs  us,  declared,  that  though  he  seldom  descended  above  three  or 
four  fathoms,  yet  he  found  it  so  much  colder  than  near  the  top,  that 
he  could  not  well  endure  it ;  and  that  being  let  down  in  ?i  great  diving- 
bell,  although  the  water  could  not  immediately  touch  him,  he  found' 
the  air  extremely  cold  upon  his  first  arrival  at  the  bottom. 

From  divers  also  we  learn,  that  the  sea,  in  many  places,  is  filled 
with  rocks  at  bottom  ;  and,  that  among  their  clefts,  and  upon  their 
sides,  various  substances  sprout  forward,  which  are  either  really  vege- 
tables, or  the  nests  of  insects,  increased  to  some  magnitude.  Some  of 
these  assume  the  shape  of  beautiful  flowers ;  and,  though  soft  when 
taken  up,  soon  harden,  and  are  kept  in  the  cabinets  of  the  curious.  ' 

But  of  all  those  divers  who  have  brought  us  information  from  the 
bottom  of  the  deep,  the  famous  Nicola  Pesce,  whose  performances  are 
told  us  by  Kircher,  is  the  most  celebrated.  I  will  not  so  much  as  pre- 
tend to  vouch  for  the  veracity  of  Kircher's  account,  which  he  assures 
us  he  had  from  the  archives  of  the  kings  of  Sicily  ;  but  it  may  serve  to 
enliven  a  heavy  chapter.  "  In  the  times  of  Frederic,  king  of  Sicily, 
there  lived  a  celebrated  diver,  whose  name  was  Nicholas,  and  who, 
from  his  amazing  skill  in  swimming,  and  his  perseverance  under  wa- 
ter, was  surnamed  the  Fish.  Th'is  man  had,  frdm  his  infancy,  been 
used  to  the  sea  ;  and  earned  his  scanty  subsistence  by  diving  for  corals 
and  oysters ;  which  he  sold  to  the  villagers  on  shore.  His  long  ac- 
quaintance with  the  sea,  at  last,  brought  it  to  be  almost  his  natural 
element.  He  frequently  was  known  to  spend  five  days  in  the  midst 
of  the  waves,  without  any  other  provisions  than  the  fish  which  he 
caught  there,  and  ate  raw.  He  often  swam  over  from  Sicily  to  Cala- 
bria, a  tempestuous  and  dangerous  passage,  carrying  letters  from  the 
king.  He  was  frequently  known  to  swim  among  the  gulfs  of  the  Li- 
pari  islands,  no  way  apprehensive  of  danger. 

"  Some  mariners  out  at  sea,  one  day  observed  something  at  some 
distance  from  them,  which  they  regarded  as  a  sea-monster  ;  but,  upon 
its  approach,  it  was  known  to  be  Nicholas,  whom  they  took  into  their 
ship.  When  they  asked  him  whither  he  was  going  in  so  stormy  and 
rough  a  sea,  and  at  such  a  distance  from  land,  he  shewed  them  a 
packet  of  letters,  which  he  was  carrying  to  one  of  the  towns  of  Italy, 
exactly  done  up  in  a  leather  bag,  in  such  a  manner  as  that  iney  could 
Dot  be  wetted  by  the  sea.  He  kept  them  thus  company  foi-  some 

»  Bovle,  vol.  iii.  p.  242. 


120  A  HISTORY  OF 

time  on  their  voyage,  conversing  and  asking  Questions  ;  and  after  eat 
ing  a  hearty  meal  with  them,  he  took  his  leave,  and,  jumping  into  the 
tea,  pursued  his  voyage  alone. 

"  In  order  to  aid  these  powers  of  enduring  in  the  deep,  Nature  seem- 
ed to  have  assisted  him  in  a  very  extraordinary  manner  ;  for  the  spaces 
between  his  fingers  and  toes  were  webbed,  as  in  a  goose  ;  and  his 
chest  became  so  very  capacious,  that  he  could  take  in,  at  one  inspira- 
tion, as  much  breath  as  would  serve  him  for  a  whole  day. 

"  The  account  of  so  extraordinary  a  person  did  not  fail  to  reach  the 
king  himself ;  who,  actuated  by  the  general  curiosity,  ordered  that 
Nicholas  should  be  brought  before  him.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  find 
Nicholas,  who  generally  spent  his  time  in  the  solitudes  of  the  deep  ; 
but,  at  last,  however,  after  much  searching,  he  was  found,  and  brought 
before  his  Majesty.  The  curiosity  of  this  monarch  had  been  long  ex- 
cited by  the  accounts  he  had  heard  of  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  of  Cha- 
rybdis ;  he  therefore  conceived  that  it  would  be  a  proper  opportunity 
to  have  more  certain  information  ;  and  commanded  our  poor  diver  to 
examine  the  bottom  of  this  dreadful  whirlpool  :  as  an  incitement  to 
his  obedience,  he  ordered  a  golden  cup  to  be  flung  into  it.  Nicholas 
was  not  insensible  of  the  danger  to  which  he  was  exposed  ;  dangers 
Vest  known  only  to  himself;  and  he  therefore  presumed  to  remon- 
strate ;  but  the  hopes  of  the  reward,  the  desire  of  pleasing  the  king, 
and  the  pleasure  of  shewing  his  skill,  at  last  prevailed.  He  instantly 
jumped  into  the  gulf,  and  was  swallowed  as  instantly  up  in  its  bosom. 
He  continued  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour  below  ;  during  which 
time  the  king  and  his  attendants  remained  upon  shore  anxious  for  his 
fate  ;  but  he  at  last  appeared,  buffeting  upon  the  surface,  holding  the 
cup  in  triumph  in  one  hand,  and  making  his  way  good  among  the 
waves  with  the  other.  It  may  be  supposed  he  was  received  with  ap- 
plause,'upon  his  arrival  on  shore;  the  cup  was  made  the  reward  of 
his  adventure  j  the  king  ordered  him  to  be  taken  proper  care  of;  and, 
as  he  was  somewhat  fatigued  and  debilitated  by  his  labour,  after  a 
hearty  meal  he  was  put  to  bed,  and  permitted  to  refresh  himself  by 
sleeping. 

"  When  his  spirits  were  thus  restored,  he  was  again  brought  to 
satisfy  the  king's  curiosity  with  a  narrative  of  the  wonders  he  had 
seen  ;  and  his  account  was  to  the  following  effect : — He  would  never, 
he  said,  have  obeyed  the  king's  commands,  had  he  been  apprized  of 
half  the  dangers  that  were  before  him.  There  were  four  things,  he 
said,  that  rendered  the  gulf  dreadful,  not  only  to  men,  but  even  to  the 
fishes  themselves :  first,  the  force  of  the  water  bursting  up  from  the 
bottom,  which  requires  great  strength  to  resist :  secondly,  the  abrupt- 
ness of  the  rocks,  that  on  every  side  threatened  destruction  ;  thirdly, 
the  force  of  the  whirlpool,  dashing  against  those  rocks  ;  and  fourthly, 
the  number  and  magnitude  of  the  polypous  fish,  some  of  which  ap- 
peared as  large  as  a  man,  and  which,  every  where  sticking  against  the 
rocks,  projected  their  fibrous  arms  to  entangle  him.  Being  asked  how 
he  was  able  so  readily  to  find  th*>  cup  that  had  been  thrown  in,  he 
replied,  that  it  happened  to  be  flu.ig  by  the  waves  into  the  cavity  of 
a  rock,  against  which  he  himself  was  urged  in  his  descent.  This  ac 
count,  however,  did  not  satisfy  the  king's  curiosity  :  being  r«  quested 


Spanish  Pointer,  p.  136. 


American  Wild  Dog,  p.  126 


Esquimaux  Dog,  p.  120. 


THE  EARTH.  121 

to  venture  once  more  into  the  gulf  for  further  discoveries,  he  at  first 
refused ;  but  the  king,  desirous  of  having  the  most  exact  information 
possible  of  all  things  to  be  found  in  the  gulf,  repeated  his  solicita- 
tions; and,  to  give  them  still  greater  weight,  produced  a  larger  cup 
than  the  former,  and  added  also  a  purse  of  gold.  Upon  thfise  con- 
siderations, the  unfortunate  Pessacola  once  again  plunged  into  the 
whirlpool,  and  was  never  heard  of  more." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

A  SUMMARY  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  MECHANICAL  PROPERTIES  OP  AIR. 

HAVING  described  the  earth  and  the  sea,  we  now  ascend  into  that 
fluid  which  surrounds  them  both;  and  which,  in  some  measure,  sup- 
ports and  supplies  all  animated  nature.  As  upon  viewing  the  bottom 
of  the  ocean  from  its  surface,  we  see  an  infinity  of  animals  moving 
therein,  and  seeking  food ;  so,  were  some  superior  being  to  regard 
the  earth  at  a  proper  distance,  he  might  consider  us  in  the  same 
light:  he  might,  from  his  superior  station,  behold  a  number  of  busy 
little  beings,  immersed  in  the  aerial  fluid,  that  every  where  surrounds 
them,  and  sedulously  employed  in  procuring  the  means  of  subsist- 
ence. This  fluid,  though  too  fine  for  the  gross  perception  of  its  in- 
habitants, might,  to  his  nicer  organs  of  sight,  be  very  visible;  and, 
while  he  at  once  saw  into  its  operations,  he  might  smile  at  the  varie- 
ties of  human  conjecture  concerning  it :  he  might  readily  discern, 
perhaps,  the  height  above  the  surface  of  the  earth  to  which  this  fluid 
atmosphere  reaches ;  he  might  exactly  determine  that  peculiar  form 
of  its  parts  which  gives  it  the  spring  or  elasticity  with  which  it  is  en- 
dued ;  he  might  distinguish  which  of  its  parts  were  pure,  incorrup- 
tible air,  and  which  only  made  for  a  little  time  to  assume  the  appear- 
ance, so  as  to  be  quickly  returned  back  to  the  element  from  whence 
it  came.  But  as  for  us,  who  are  immersed  at  the  bottom  of  this 
gulf,  we  must  be  contented  with  a  more  confined  knowledge ;  and, 
wanting  a  proper  point  of  prospect,  remain  satisfied  with  a  combina- 
tion of  the  effects. 

One  of  the  first  things  that  our  senses  inform  us  of  is,  that  although 
the  air  is  too  fine  for  our  sight,  it  is  very  obvious  to  our  touch.  Al- 
though we  cannot  see  the  wind  contained  in  a  bladder,  we  can  very 
readily  feel  its  resistance;  and  though  the  hurricane  may  want  colour, 
we  often  fatally  experience  that  it  does  not  want  force.  We  have 
equal  experience  of  the  air's  spring  or  elasticity  :  the  bladder,  when 
pressed,  returns  again  upon  the  pressure  being  taken  away  ;  a  bottle, 
vhen  filled,  often  bursts,  from  the  spring  of  air  which  is  included. 

So  far  the  slightest  experience  reaches ;  but,  by  carrying  experi- 
ment a  little  farther,  we  learn,  that  air  also  is  heavy ;  a  round  glass 
vessel  being  emptied  of  its  air,  and  accurately  weighed,  has  been 
found  lighter  than  when  it  was  weighed  with  the  air  in  it.  Upon 
computing  the  superior  weight  of  the  full  vessel,  a  cubic  foot  of  air  it 
found  to  weigh  something  more  than  an  ounce. 


122  A  HISTORY  OF 

from  this  experiment,  therefore,  we  learn,  that  the  earth,  ».nd  all 
things  upon  its  surface,  are  every  where  covered  with  a  ponderous 
fluid,  which  rising  very  high  over  our  heads,  must  be  proportionally 
heavy.  For  instance,  as  in  the  sea,  a  man  at  the  depth  of  twenty  feet 
sustains  a  greater  weight  of  water,  than  a  man  at  the  depth  of  but  ten 
feet ;  so  will  a  man  at  trie  bottom  of  a  valley  have  a  greater  weight  of 
air  over  him,  than  a  man  on  the  top  of  a  mountain. 

From  hence  we  may  conclude,  that  we  sustain  a  very  great  weight  of 
air  ;  and  although,  like  men  walking  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  we  can- 
not feel  the  weight  which  presses  equally  round  us,  yet  the  pressure 
is  not  the  less  real.  As  in  morals,  we  seldom  know  the  blessings  that 
surround  us  till  we  are  deprived  of  them  ;  so  here  we  do  not  perceive 
the  weight  of  the  ambient  fluid  till  a  part  of  it  is  taken  away.  If,  by 
any  means,  we  contrive  to  take  away  the  pressure  of  the  air  from  any 
one  part  of  our  bodies,  we  are  soon  made  sensible  of  the  weight  upon 
the  other  parts.  Thus,  if  we  clap  our  hand  upon  the  mouth  of  a  ves- 
sel from  whence  the  air  has  been  taken  away,  there  will  thus  be  air 
on  one  side,  and  none  on  the  other  ;  upon  which,  we  shall  instantly 
find  the  hand  violently  sucked  inwards  ;  which  is  nothing  more  than 
the  weight  of  the  air  upon  the  back  of  the  hand  that  forces  it  into  the 
space  which  is  empty  below. 

As,  by  this  experiment,  we  perceive  that  the  air  presses  with  great 
weight  upon  every  thing  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  so  by  other  ex- 
periments we  learn  the  exact  weight  with  which  it  presses.  First,  it 
the  air  be  exhausted  out  of  any  vessel,  a  drinking  vessel  for  instance,* 
and  this  vessel  be  set  with  the  mouth  downwards  in  water,  the  water 
will  rise  up  into  the  empty  space,  and  fill  the  inverted  glass ;  for  the 
external  air  will,  in  this  case,  press  up  the  water  where  there  is  no 
weight  to  resist ;  as,  one  part  of  a  bed  being  pressed,  makes  the  other 
parts,  that  have  no  weight  upon  them,  rise.  In  this  case,  as  was  said, 
the  water  being  pressed  without,  will  rise  in  the  glass ;  and  would 
continue  to  rise  (if  the  empty  glass  were  tall  enough)  thirty-two  feet 
high.  In  fact,  there  have  been  pipes  made  purposely  for  this  experi- 
ment, of  above  thirty-two  feet  high  ;  in  which,  upon  being  exhausted, 
the  water  has  always  risen  to  the  height  of  thirty-two  feet :  there  it 
has  always  rested,  and  never  ascended  higher.  From  this,  therefore, 
we  learn,  that  the  weight  of  the  air  which  presses  up  the  water,  is 
equal  to  a  pillar  or  column  of  water,  which  is  thirty-two  feet  high  :  as  it  is 
just  able  to  raise  such  a  column,  and  no  more.  In  other  words,  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth  is  every  where  covered  with  a  weight  of  air,  which 
is  equivalent  to  a  covering  of  thirty-two  feet  deep  of  water ;  or  to  a 
weight  of  twenty-nine  inches  and  a  half  of  quicksilver,  which  is 
known  to  be  just  as  heavy  as  the  former. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  air,  at  the  surface  of  the  earth,  is  just  as  heavy 
as  thirty-two  feet  of  water,  or  twenty-nine  inches  and  a  half  of  quick- 
silver ;  and  it  is  easily  found,  by  computation,  that  to  raise  water  thirty- 
iwo  feet,  will  require  a  weight  of  fifteen  pounds  upon  every  square 
inch.  Now,  if  we  are  fond  of  computations,  we  have  only  to  calcu- 

*  This  may  be  done  by  burning  a  bit  of  paper  m  tlie  same,  an  A  fnen  quickly  turning  i» 
•town  upon  the  water. 


THE  EARTH.  123 

late  how  many  square  inches  are  in  the  surface  of  an  ordinary  human 
body,  and  allowing  every  inch  to  sustain  fifteen  pounds,  we  may  amaze 
ourselves  at  the  weight  of  air  we  sustain.  It  has  been  computed,  ana 
found,  that  our  ordinary  load  of  air  amounts  to  within  a  little  of  forty 
thousand  pounds  :  this  is  wonderful !  but  wondering  is  not  the  way  to 
grow  wise. 

Notwithstanding  this  be  our  ordinary  load,  and  our  usual  supply, 
there  are,  at  different  times,  very  great  variations.  The  air  is  not. 
like  water,  equally  heavy  at  all  seasons  ;  but  sometimes  is  lighter,  and 
sometimes  more  heavy.  It  is  sometimes  more  compressed,  and  some- 
times more  elastic  or  springy,  which  produces  the  same  effects  as  at 
increase  of  its  weight.  The  air,  which  at  one  time  raises  water  thirty- 
\wo  feet  in  the  tube,  and  quicksilver  twenty-nine  inches,  will  not  at 
another  raise  the  one  to  thirty  feet,  or  the  other  to  twenty-six  inches. 
This  makes,  therefore,  a  very  great  difference  in  the  weight  we  sus- 
tain ;  and  we  are  actually  known,  by  compulation,  to  carry  at  one 
time  four  thousand  pounds  of  air  more  than  at  another. 

The  reason  of  this  surprising  difference  in  the  weight  of  air,  is 
either  owing  to  its  pressure  from  above,  or  to  an  increase  of  vapour 
floating  in  it.  Its  increased  pressure  is  the  consequence  of  its  spring 
or  elasticity,  which  cold  and  heat  sensibly  affect,  and  are  continually 
changing. 

This  elasticity  of  the  air  is  one  of  its  most  amazing  properties  ;  and 
to  which  it  should  seem  nothing  can  set  bounds.  A  body  of  air  that 
may  be  contained  in  a  nutshell,  may  easily,  with  heat,  be  dilated  into 
a  sphere  of  unknown  dimensions.  On  the  contrary,  the  air  contained 
in  a  house,  may  be  compressed  into  a  cavity  not  larger  than  the  eye 
of  a  needle.  In  short,  no  bounds  can  be  set  to  its  confinement  or  ex- 
pansion ;  at  least,  experiment  has  hitherto  found  its  attempts  indefi- 
nite. In  every  situation,  it  retains  its  elasticity  ;  and  the  more  closely 
we  compress  it,  the  more  strongly  does  it  resist  the  pressure.  If  to 
the  increasing  the  elasticity  on  one  side  by  compression,  we  increase 
it  on  the  other  side  by  heat,  the  force  of  both  soon  becomes  irresisti- 
ble ;  and  a  certain  French  philosopher*  supposed,  that  air  thus  con- 
fined and  expanding,  was  sufficient  for  the  explosion  of  a  world. 

Many  instruments  have  been  formed  to  measure  and  determine  these 
different  properties  of  the  air ;  and  which  serve  several  useful  pur- 
poses. The  barometer  serves  to  measure  its  weight ;  to  tell  us  when 
•t  is  heavier,  and  when  lighter.  It  is  composed  of  a  glass  tube  or  pipe, 
of  about  thirty  inches  in  length,  closed  up  at  one  end  ;  this  tube  is 
then  filled  with  quicksilver ;  this  done,  the  maker  clapping  his  finger 
upon  the  open  end,  inverts  the  tube,  and  plunges  the  open  end,  finger 
and  all,  into  a  bason  of  quicksilver,  and  then  takes  his  finger  away  ; 
now  the  quicksilver  in  the  tube  will,  by  its  own  weight,  endeavour  to 
descend  into  that  in  the  bason  ;  but  the  external  air,  pressing  on  the 
surface  of  the  quicksilver  in  the  bason  without,  and  no  air  being  in 
the  tube  at  top,  the  quicksilver  will  continue  in  the  tube,  being  press- 
ed up,  as  was  said,  by  the  air,  on  the  surface  of  the  bason  below.  Th« 
height  at  which  it  is  known  to  stand  in  the  tube,  is  usually  about  twea- 

*  Mons'^ur  Atnontons. 


124  A  HISTORY  OF 

ry-nine  inches,  when  the  air  is  heavy  ;  but  not  above  twenty-six,  when 
the  air  is  very  light.  Thus,  by  this  instrument,  we  can,  with  some 
exactness,  determine  the  weight  of  the  air  ;  and,  of  consequence,  tell 
before-hand  the  changes  of  the  weather.  Before  fine  dry  weather, 
the  air  is  charged  with  a  variety  of  vapours,  which  float  in  it  unseen, 
and  render  it  extremely  heavy,  so  that  it  presses  up  the  quicksilver ; 
or,  in  other  words,  the  barometer  rises.  In  moist,  rainy  weather,  the 
vapours  are  washed  down,  or  there  is  not  heat  sufficient  for  them  to 
rise,  so  that  the  air  is  then  sensibly  lighter,  and  presses  up  the  quick- 
silver with  less  force  ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  barometer  is  seen  to 
fall.  Our  constitutions  seem  also  to  correspond  with  the  changes  of 
the  weather-glass  ;  they  are  braced,  strong,  and  vigorous,  with  a  large 
body  of  air  upon  them  ;  they  are  languid,  relaxed,  and  feeble,  when 
the  air  is  light,  and  refuses  to  give  our  fibres  their  proper  tone. 

But  although  the  barometer  thus  measures  the  weight  of  the  air 
with  exactness  enough  for  the  general  purposes  of  life,  yet  it  is  often 
affected  with  a  thousand  irregularities,  that  no  exactness  in  the  instru- 
ment can  remedy,  nor  no  theory  account  for.  When  high  winds  blow, 
the  quicksilver  generally  is  low :  it  rises  higher  in  cold  weather  than 
in  warm  ;  and  is  usually  higher  at  morning  and  evening  than  at  mid- 
day :  it  generally  descends  lower  after  rain  than  it  was  before  it.  There 
are  also  frequent  changes  in  the  air,  without  any  sensible  alteration  in 
the  barometer. 

As  the  barometer  is  thus  used  in  predicting  the  changes  of  the 
weather,  so  it  is  also  serviceable  in  measuring  the  heights  of  moun- 
tains, which  mathematicians  cannot  so  readily  do :  for,  as  the  higher 
we  ascend  from  the  surface  of  the  earth,  the  air  becomes  lighter,  so 
the  quicksilver  in  the  baromter  will  descend  in  proportion.  It  is  found 
to  sink  at  the  rate  of  the  tenth  part  of  an  inch  for  every  ninety  feet 
we  ascend ;  so  that  in  going  up  a  mountain,  if  I  find  the  quicksilver 
fallen  an  inch,  I  conclude,  that  I  am  got  upon  an  ascent  of  near  nine 
hundred  feet  high.  In  this  there  has  been  found  some  variation; 
into  a  detail  of  which,  it  is  not  the  business  of  a  natural  historian  to 
enter. 

In  order  to  determine  the  elasticity  of  air,  the  wind-gun  has  been 
invented,  which  is  an  instrument  variously  made;  but  in  all  upon  the 
principle  of  compressing  a  large  quantity  of  air  into  a  tube,  in  which 
there  is  an  ivory  ball,  and  then  giving  the  compressed  elastic  air  free 
power  to  act,  and  drive  the  ball  as  directed.  The  ball,  thus  driven, 
will  pierce  a  thick  board ;  and  will  be  as  fatal,  at  small  distance's,  as 
if  driven  with  gunpowder.  I  do  not  know  whether  ever  the  force  of 
this  instrument  has  been  assisted  by  means  of  heat;  certain  I  am, 
that  this,  which  could  be  very  easily  contrived  by  means  of  phospho- 
rus, or  any  other  hot  substance  applied  to  the  barrel,  would  give  such 
a  force  as  I  doubt  whether  gunpowder  itself  could  produce. 

The  air-pump  is  an  instrument  contrived  to  exhaust  the  air  from 
round  a  vessel  adapted  to  that  purpose,  called  a  receiver.  This 
method  of  exhausting,  is  contrived  in  the  simple  instrument,  by  a 
piston,  like  that  of  a  syringe,  going  down  into  the  vessel,  and  thus 
pushing  out  its  air;  which,  by  means  of  a  valve,  is  prevented  from  re- 
liirning  into  the  vessel  again.  But  this,  like  all  other  complicated 


THE  EARTH  125 

instruments,  will  be  better  understood  by  a  minute  inspection,  than 
an  hour's  description :  it  may  suffice  here  to  observe,  that  by  depriving 
animals,  and  other  substances,  of  all  air,  it  shews  us  what  the  benefits 
and  effects  of  air  are  in  sustaining  life,  or  promoting  vegetation. 

The  digester  is  an  instrument  of  still  more  extraordinary  effects  than 
any  of  the  former  ;  and  sufficiently  discovers  the  amazing  force  of  air, 
when  its  elasticity  is  augmented  by  fire.  A  common  tea-kettle,  if  the 
spout  were  closed  up,  and  the  lid  put  firmly  down,  would  serve  to  be- 
come a  digester,  if  strong  enough.  But  the  instrument  used  for  this 
purpose  is  a  strong  metal  pot,  with  a  lid  to  screw  close  on,  so  that, 
when  down,  no  air  can  get  in  or  return  :  into  this  pot  meat  and  bones 
are  put,  with  a  small  quantity  of  water,  and  then  the  lid  screwed 
close  :  a  lighted  lamp  is  put  underneath,  and,  what  is  very  extraordi- 
nary, (yet  equally  true)  in  six  or  eight  minutes  the  whole  mass,  bones 
and  all,  are  dissolved  into  a  jelly ;  so  great  is  the  force  and  elasticity 
of  the  air  contained  within,  struggling  to  escape,  and  breaking  in 
pieces  all  the  substances  with  which  it  is  mixed .  Care,  however,  must 
be  taken  not  to  heat  this  instrument  too  violently  ;  for  then  the  inclosed 
air  would  become  irresistible,  and  burst  the  whole,  with,  perhaps,  a 
fatal  explosion. 

There  are  numberless  other  useful  instruments  made  to  depend  on 
the  weight,  the  elasticity,  or  the  fluidity  of  the  air,  which  do  not  come 
within  the  plan  of  the  present  work ;  the  design  of  which  is  not  to 
give  an  account  of  the  inventions  that  have  been  made  for  determin- 
ing the  nature  and  properties  of  air,  but  a  mere  narrative  of  its  effects. 
The  description  of  the  pump,  the  forcing-pump,  the  fire-engine,  the 
steam-engine,  the  syphon,  and  many  others,  belong  not  to  the  natu- 
ralist, but  the  experimental  philosopher :  the  one  gives  a  history  of 
Nature,  as  he  finds  she  presents  herself  to  him ;  and  he  draws  the 
obvious  picture  :  the  other  pursues  her  with  close  investigation,  tor- 
tures her  by  experiment  to  give  up  her  secrets,  and  measures  her  latent 
qualities  with  laborious  precision.  Much  more,  therefore,  might  be  said 
of  the  mechanical  effects  of  air,  and  of  the  conjectures  that  have  been 
made  respecting  the  form  of  its  parts  ;  how  some  have  supposed  them 
to  resemble  little  hoops,  coiled  up  in  a  spring ;  others,  like  fleeces  of 
wool ;  others,  that  the  parts  are  endued  with  a  repulsive  quality,  by 
which,  when  squeezed  together,  they  endeavour  to  fly  off,  and  recede 
from  each  other.  We  might  have  given  the  disputes  relative  to  the 
height  to  which  this  body  of  air  extends  above  us,  and  concerning 
which  there  is  no  agreement.  We  might  have  inquired  how  much  of 
the  air  we  breathe  is  elementary,  and  not  reducible  to  any  other  sub- 
stance ;  and  of  what  density  it  would  become,  if  it  were  supposed  to 
be  continued  down  to  the  centre  of  the  earth.  At  that  place  we  might, 
with  the  help  of  figures,  and  a  bold  imagination,  have  shown  it  twenty 
thousand  times  heavier  than  its  bulk  of  gold.  We  mignt  aiso  prove  it 
millions  of  times  purer  than  upon  earth,  when  raised  to  the  surface  of 
the  atmosphere.  But  these  speculations  do  not  belong  to  natural  his- 
tory ;  and  they  have  hitherto  produced  no  great  advantages  in  th»t 
branch  of  science  to  which  they  more  properly  appertain. 


126  A  HISTORY  OF 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

AN  ESSAY  TOWAKDS  A  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  THE  AIR. 

A  LATE  eminent  philosopher  has  considered  our  atmosphere  as  one 
large  chymical  vessel,  in  which  an  infinite  number  of  various  opera- 
tions are  constantly  performing.  In  it  all  the  bodies  of  the  earth 
are  continually  sending  up  apart  of  their  substance  by  evaporation,  to 
mix  in  this  great  alembic,  and  to  float  awhile  in  common.  Here  mine- 
rals, from  their  lowest  depths,  ascend  in  noxious,  or  in  warm  vapours, 
to  make  a  part  of  the  general  mass ;  seas,  rivers,  and  subterraneous 
springs,  furnish  their  copious  supplies  ;  plants  receive  and  return  their 
share  ;  and  animals,  that  by  living  upon,  consume  this  general  store, 
are  found  to  give  it  back  in  greater  quantities  when  they  die.*  The 
air,  therefore,  that  we  breathe,  and  upon  which  we  subsist,  bears  very 
little  resemblance  to  that  pure  elementary  body  which  was  described 
in  the  last  chapter ;  and  which  is  rather  a  substance  that  may  be  con- 
ceived, than  experienced  to  exist.  Air,  such  as  we  find  it,  is  one  ol 
the  most  compounded  bodies  in  all  nature.  Water  may  be  reduced  to 
a  fluid  every  way  resembling  air,  by  heat ;  which,  by  cold,  becomes  wa- 
ter again.  Every  thing  we  see  gives  off  its  parts  to  the  air,  and  has  a 
little  floating  atmosphere  of  its  own  round  it.  The  rose  is  encompassed 
with  a  sphere  of  its  own  odorous  particles ;  while  the  night-shade  in- 
fects the  air  with  a  scent  of  a  more  ungrateful  nature.  The  perfume 
of  musk  flies  off  in  such  abundance,  that  the  quantity  remaining  be- 
comes sensibly  lighter  by  the  loss.  A  thousand  substances  that  escape 
all  our  senses,  we  know  to  be  there ;  the  powerful  emanations  of  the 
load-stone,  the  effluvia  of  electricity,  the  rays  of  light,  and  the  insinu- 
ations of  fire.  Such  are  the  various  substances  through  which  we 
move,  and  which  we  are  constantly  taking  in  at  every  pore,  and  re- 
turning again  with  imperceptible  discharge. 

This  great  solution,  or  mixture  of  all  earthly  bodies,  is  continually 
operating  upon  itself;  which,  perhaps,  may  be  the  cause  of  its  unceas- 
ing motion  :  but  it  operates  still  more  visibly  upon  such  grosser  sub- 
stances as  are  exposed  to  its  influence  ;  for  scarcely  any  substance  is 
found  capable  of  resisting  the  corroding  qualities  of  the  air.  The  air, 
say  the  chymists,  is  a  chaos,  furnished  with  all  kinds  of  sails  and  men- 
struums  ;  and,  therefore,  it  is  capable  of  dissolving  all  kinds  cf  bodies. 
It  is  well  known,  that  copper  and  iron  are  quickly  covered,  and  eaten 
with  rust ;  and  that  in  the  climates  near  the  equator,  no  art  can  koop 
them  clean.  In  those  dreary  countries,  the  instruments,  knives,  and 
keys,  that  are  kept  in  the  pocket,  are  nevertheless  quickly  encrusted ; 
and  the  great  guns,  with  every  precaution,  after  some  years,  become 
useless.  Stones,  as  being  less  hard,  may  be  readily  supposed  to  be 
more  easily  soluble.  The  marble  of  which  the  noble  monuments  of 
Italian  antiquity  are  composed,  although  in  one  of  the  finest  climates 
in  the  world,  shew  the  impressions  which  have  been  made  upon  them 
.ky  the  air.  In  many  places  they  seem  worm-eaten  by  time ;  and,  in 
ethers,  they  aouear  crumbling  into  dust.  Gold  alone  seems  tc  be  ex 

*  Boyle,  vol.  ii.  p.  593 


THE  EARTH.  127 

empted  from  this  general  state  of  dissolution  ;  it  is  never  found  to  con- 
tract rust,  though  exposed  never  so  long ;  the  reason  of  this  seems  tr; 
be,  that  sea-salt,  which  is  the  only  menstruum  capable  of  acting  upon, 
and  dissolving  gold,  is  but  very  little  mixed  with  the  air  ;  for  salt  bo- 
ing  a  very  fixed  body,  and  not  apt  to  volatilize,  and  rise  with  heat; 
there  is  but  a  small  proportion  of  it  in  the  atmosphere.  In  the  elabo- 
/atories,  and  shops,  however,  where  salt  is  much  used,  and  the  air  is 
impregnated  with  it,  gold  is  found  to  rust  as  well  as  other  metals. 

Bodies  of  a  softer  nature  are  obviously  destroyed  by  the  air.*    Mr- 
Boyle  says,  that  silks  brought  to  Jamaica,  will,  if  there  exposed  to  the 
air,  rot,  even  while  they  preserve  their  colour;  but  if  kept  therefrom, 
they  both  retain  their  strength  and  gloss.     The  same  happens  in  Bra- 
sil,  where  their  clothes,  which  are  black,  soon  turn  of  an  iron  colour  ; 
though,  in  the  shops,  they  preserve  their  proper  hue.t     In  these  tropi 
cal  climates   also,  such  are  the  putrescent  qualities  of  the  air,  that 
white  sugar  will  sometimes  be  full  of  maggots.     Drugs  and  plasters 
lose  their  virtue,  and   become  verminous.     In  some  places  they  are 
obliged  to  expose   the   sweetmeats  by  day  in  the   sun,  otherwise  the 
night  air  would  quickly  cause  them  to  putrefy.     On  the  contrary,  5* 
the  cold  arctic  regions,  animal  substances,  during  their  winter,  * 
never  known  to  putrefy ;  and  meat  may  be  kept  for  months  witho*. 
any  salt   whatsoever.     This   experiment  happily  succeeded  with  th-» 
eight  Englishmen  that  were  accidentally  left  upon  the  inhospitab*' 
coasts  of  Greenland,  at  a  place  where  seven  Dutchmen  had  perish- 
but  a  few  years  before  ;  for  killing  some  rein-deer  for  their  subsistenc 
and  having  no  salt  to  preserve  the  flesh,  to  their  great  surprise  the$ 
soon  found  it  did  not  want  any,  as  it  remained  sweet  during  their  eight 
months'  continuance  upon  that  shore. 

These  powers  with  which  air  is  endued  over  unorganized  substances, 
are  exerted  in  a  still  stronger  manner  over  plants,  animals  of  an  infe- 
rior nature,  and,  lastly,  over  man  himself.  Most  of  the  beauty,  and 
the  luxuriance  of  vegetation,  is  well  known  to  be  derived  from  the  be- 
nign influence  of  the  air :  and  every  plant  seems  to  have  its  favourite 
climate,  not  less  than  its  proper  soil.  The  lower  ranks  of  animals  al- 
so, seem  formed  for  their  respective  climates,  in  which  only  they  can 
live.  Man  alone  seems  the  child  of  every  climate,  and  capable  of 
existing  in  all.  However,  this  peculiar  privilege  does  not  exempt 
him  from  the  influences  of  the  air  ;  he  is  as  much  subject  to  its  malig- 
nity, as  the  meanest  insect  or  vegetable. 

With  regard  to  plants,  air  is  so  absolutely  necessary  for  their  life 
and  preservation,  that  they  will  not  vegetate  in  an  exhausted  receiv- 
er. All  plants  have  within  them  a  quantity  of  air,  which  supports  and 
agitates  their  juices.  They  are  continually  imbibing  fresh  nutriment 
from  the  air,  to  increase  this  store,  and  to  supply  the  wants  which 
they  sustain  from  evaporation.  When,  therefore,  the  external  air  is, 
drawn  from  them,  they  are  no  longer  able  to  subsist.  Even  that 
quantity  of  air  which  they  before  were  possessed  of,  escapes  through 
their  pores,  into  the  exhausted  receiver  ;  and  as  this  continues  to  be 
pumped  away,  they  become  languid,  grow  flaccid,  and  die.  However 

*  Buffon,  vol.  iii.  p.  62.  t  Ibid,  vol.  iii.  p.  68. 


128  A  HISTORY  OF 

the  plint  or  flower  thus  ceasing  to  vegetate,  is  Kept,  by  being  secured 
from  the  external  air,  a  much  longer  time  sweet  than  it  would  have 
continued,  had  it  heen  openly  exposed. 

That  air  which  is  so  necessary  to  the  life  of  vegetables,  is  still  more 
so  to  that  of  animals ;  there  are  none  found,  how  seemingly  torpid 
soever,  that  do  not  require  their  needful  supply.  Fishes  themselves 
will  not  live  in  water  from  whence  the  air  is  exhausted  ;  and  it  is 
generally  supposed  that  they  die  in  frozen  ponds,  from  the  want  of 
this  necessary  to  animal  existence.  Many  have  been  the  animals  that 
idle  curiosity  has  tortured  in  the  prison  of  a  receiver,  merely  to  ob 
serve  the  manner  of  their  dying.  We  shall,  from  a  thousand  instances,, 
produce  that  of  the  viper,  as  it  is  known  to  be  one  of  the  most  viva 
cious  reptiles  in  the  world  ;  and  as  we  shall  feel  but  little  compassion 
for  its  tortures.  Mr.  Boyle  took  a  new-caught  viper,  and  shutting  it 
up  into  a  small  receiver,  began  to  pump  away  the  air.*  "  At  nrst, 
upon  the  air's  being  drawn  away,  it  began  to  swell  ;  some  time  after 
he  had  dono  pumping,  it  began  to  gape,  and  open  its  jaws ;  being 
thus  compelled  to  open  its  jaws,  it  once  more  resumed  its  tormer 
lankness ;  it  then  began  to  move  up  and  down  within,  as  if  to  seek 
for  air,  and  after  a  while  foamed  a  little,  leaving  the  foam  sticking  to 
the  inside  of  the  glass  ;  soon  after  the  body  and  neck  grew  prodigi- 
ously tumid,  and  a  blister  appeared  upon  its  back ;  an  hour  and  a  half 
after  the  receiver  was  exhausted,  .the  distended  viper  moved,  and 
gave  manifest  signs  of  life ;  the  jaws  remained  quite  distended  ;  as  it 
were  from  beneath  the  epiglottis,  came  the  black  tongue,  and  reached 
beyond  it ;  but  the  animal  seemed,  by  its  posture,  not  to  have  any 
life ;  the  mouth  also  was  grown  blackish  within  ;  and  in  this  situation 
it  continued  for  twenty-three  hours.  But  upon  the  air's  being  re-ad- 
mitted, the  viper's  mouth  was  presently  closed,  and  soon  after  opened 
again  ;  and  for  some  time  those  motions  continued,  which  argued  the 
remains  of  life."  Such  is  the  fate  of  the  most  insignificant  or  minute 
reptile  that  can  be  thus  included.  Mites,  fleas,  and  even  the  little  eels 
that  are  found  swimming  in  vinegar,  die  for  want  of  air.  Not  only 
these,  but  the  eggs  of  these  animals,  will  not  produce  in  vacuo,  but  re- 
quire air  to  bring  them  to  perfection. 

As  in  this  manner  air  is  necessary  to  their  subsistence,  so  also  it 
must  be  of  a  proper  kind,  and  not  impregnated  with  foreign  mixtures. 
That  factitious  air  which  is  pumped  from  plants  or  fluids,  is  generally, 
in  a  short  time,  fatal  to  them.  Mr.  Boyle  has  given  us  many  experi- 
ments to  this  purpose.  After  having  shewn  that  all  vegetable,  and 
most  mineral  substances,  properly  prepared,  may  afford  air,  by  being 
placed  in  an  exhausted  receiver,  and  this  in  such  quantities,  that  some 
have  thought  it  a  new  substance,  made  by  the  alteration  which  the 
mineral  or  plant  has  undergone  by  the  texture  of  its  parts  being  loos- 
ened in  the  operation — having  shewn,  I  say,  that  this  air  may  be  drawn 
in  great  quantities  from  vegetable,  animal,  or  mineral  substances,  such 
as  apples,  cherries,  amber  burnt,  or  hartshornf — he  included  a  frog 
in  artificial  air,  produced  from  paste  ;  in  seven  minutes'  space  it  suf- 

*  Boyle's  Physico-Mechan.  Exper.  passim 
t  Boyle's  Physico-Mechan.  vol.  ii.  p.  598. 


THE  EARTH.  12$ 

fered  convulsions,  and  at  last  lay  still,  and  being  taken  out,  recovered 
no  motion  at  all,  but  was  dead.  A  bird  inclosed  in  artificial  air,  fron; 
raisins,  died  in  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  and  never  stirred  more.  A  snail 
was  put  into  the  receiver,  with  air  of  paste  ;  in  four  minutes  it  ceased 
to  move,  and  was  dead,  although  it  had  survived  in  vacuo  for  several 
hours :  so  that  factitious  air  proved  a  greater  enemy  to  animals  thar 
even  a  vacuum  itself. 

Air  also  may  be  impregnated  with  fumes  that  are  instantly  fatal  to 
animals.  The  fumes  of  hot  iron,  copper,  or  any  other  heated  metal, 
blown  into  the  place  where  an  animal  is  confined,  instantly  destroy  it. 
We  have  already  mentioned  the  vapours  in  the  grotto  Del  Cane  suf- 
focating a  dog.  The  ancients  even  supposed,  that  these  animals,  as 
they  always  ran  with  their  noses  to  the  ground,  were  the  first  that  felt 
any  infection.  In  short,  it  should  seem  that  the  predominance  of  any 
one  vapour,  from  any  body,  how  wholesome  soever  in  itself,  becomes 
infectious ;  and  that  we  owe  the  salubrity  of  the  air  to  the  variety  of 
its  mixture. 

But  there  is  no  animal  whose  frame  is  more  sensibly  affected  by  the 
changes  of  the  air  than  man.  It  is  true,  he  can  endure  a  greater  va- 
riety of  climates  than  the  lower  orders  generally  are  able  to  do;  but  it 
is  rather  by  the  means  which  he  has  discovered  of  obviating  their  ef- 
fects, than  by  the  apparent  strength  of  his  constitution.  Most  other 
animals  can  bear  cold  or  hunger  better,  endure  greater  fatigues  in 
proportion,  and  are  satisfied  with  shorter  repose.  The  variations  of 
the  climate,  therefore,  would  probably  affect  them  less,  if  they  had  the 
same  means  or  skill  in  providing  against  the  severities  of  the  change. 
However  this  be,  the  body  of  man  is  an  instrument  much  more  nice- 
ly sensible  of  the  variations  of  the  air,  than  any  of  those  which  his 
own  art  has  produced  ;  for  his  frame  alone  seems  to  unite  all  their 
properties,  being  invigorated  by  the  weight  of  the  air,  relaxed  by  its 
moisture,  enfeebled  by  its  heat,  and  stiffened  by  its  frigidity. 

But  it  is  chiefly  by  the  predominance  of  some  peculiar  vapour,  that 
the  air  becomes  unfit  for  human  support.  It  is  often  found,  by  dread- 
ful experience,  to  enter  into  the  constitution,  to  mix  with  its  juices, 
and  to  putrefy  the  whole  mass  of  blood.  The  nervous  system  is  not 
less  affected  by  its  operations ;  palsies  and  vertigoes  are  caused  by  its 
damps  ;  and  a  still  more  fatal  train  of  distempers  by  its  exhalations, 
In  order  that  the  air  should  be  wholesome,  it  is  necessary,  as  we  have 
seen,  that  it  should  not  be  of  one  kind,  but  the  compound  of  several 
substances  ;  and  the  more  various  the  composition,  to  all  appearance 
the  more  salubrious.  A  man,  therefore,  who  continues  in  one  place, 
is  not  so  likely  to  enjoy  this  wholesome  variety,  as  he  who  changes 
his  situation  ;  and,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  instead  of  waiting  for  a  reno- 
vation of  air,  walks  forward  to  meet  its  arrival.  This  mere  motion, 
independent  even  of  the  benefits  of  exercise,  becomes  wholesome,  by 
thus  supplying  a  great  variety  of  that  healthful  fluid  by  which  we  are 
sustained. 

A  thousand  accidents  are  found  to  increase  these  bodies  of  vapour, 

that  make  one  place  more  or  less  wholesome  than  another.     Heat  may 

raise  them   in   too   great   quantities ;  and  cold   may  stagnate   them, 

Minerals  may  give  off  their  effluvia  in  such  proportion  as  to  keep  away 

VOL.  i.  I 


ISO  A  HISTORY  OF 

all  other  kind  of  air ;  vegetables  may  render  the  air  unwholesome  by 
their  supply ;  and  animal  putrefation  seems  to  furnish  a  quantity  of 
vapour,  at  least  as  noxious  as  any  of  the  former.  All  these  united, 
generally  make  up  the  mass  of  respiration,  and  are,  when  mixed  to- 
gether, harmless ;  but  any  one  of  them,  for  a  long  time  singly  pre- 
dominant, becomes  at  length  fatal. 

The  effects  of  heat  in  producing  a  noxious  quality  in  the  air,  are 
well  known.  Those  torrid  regions  under  the  Line  are  always  un- 
wholesome. At  Senegal,  I  am  told,  the  natives  consider  forty  as  a 
very  advanced  time  of  life,  and  generally  die  of  old  age  at  fifty.  At 
Carthagena,*  in  America,  where  the  heat  of  the  hottest  day  ever 
known  in  Europe  is  continual,  where,  during  their  winter  season,  these 
dreadful  heats  are  united  with  a  continual  succession  of  thunder,  rain, 
and  tempests,  arising  from  their  intenseness,  the  wan  and  livid  com- 
plexions of  the  inhabitants  might  make  strangers  suspect  that  they 
were  just  recovered  from  some  dreadful  distemper  ;  the  actions  of  the 
natives  are  conformable  to  their  colour  ;  in  all  their  motions  there  is 
somewhat  relaxed  and  languid ;  the  heat  of  the  climate  even  affects 
their  speech,  which  is  soft  and  slow,  and  their  words  generally  broken. 
Travellers  from  Europe  retain  their  strength  and  ruddy  colour  in  that 
climate,  possibly  for  three  or  four  months ;  but  afterwards  suffer  such 
decays  in  both,  that  they  are  no  longer  to  be  distinguished  from  the 
inhabitants  by  their  complexion.  However,  this  languid  and  spirit- 
less existence  is  frequently  drawled  on  sometimes  even  to  eighty. 
Young  persons  are  generally  most  affected  by  the  heat  of  the  climate, 
which  spares  the  more  aged  ;  but  all,  upon  their  arrival  on  the  coasts, 
are  subject  to  the  same  train  of  fatal  disorders.  Few  nations  have 
experienced  the  mortality  of  these  coasts,  so  much  as  our  own  :  in  our 
unsuccessful  attack  upon  Carthagena,  more  than  three  parts  of  our 
army  were  destroyed  by  the  climate  alone  ;  and  those  that  returned 
from  that  fatal  expedition,  found  their  former  vigour  irretrievably 
gone.  In  our  more  fortunate  expedition,  which  gave  us  the  Havana, 
we  had  little  reason  to  boast  of  our  success;  instead  of  a  third,  not  a 
fifth  part  of  the  army  were  left  survivors  of  their  victory,  the  climate 
being  an  enemy  that  even  heroes  cannot  conquer. 

The  distempers  that  thus  proceed  from  the  cruel  malignity  of  those 
climates,  are  many  :  that,  for  instance,  called  the  Chapotonadas,  car- 
ries oh'  d  multitude  of  people  ;  and  extremely  thins  the  crews  of 
European  snips,  whom  gain  tempts  into  those  inhospitable  regions. 
The  naturo  of  this  distemper  is  but  little  known,  being  caused  in  some 
persons  by  cold,  in  others  by  indigestion.  -  But  its  effects  are  far  from 
being  obscuro ;  it  is  generally  fatal  in  three  or  four  days  :  upon  its 
seizing  the  patient,  it  brings  on  what  is  there  called  the  black  vomity 
which  is  the  sad  symptom  after  which  none  are  ever  found  to  recover. 
Some,  when  the  vomit  attacks  them,  are  seized  with  a  delirium,  that, 
were  the}  not  tied  down,  they  would  tear  themselves  to  pieces,  and 
thus  expire  in  the  midst  of  this  furious  paroxysm.  This  disorder,  in 
milder  climates,  takes  the  name  of  the  bilious  fever,  and  is  attended 
wiUi  milder  symptoms,  but  very  dangerous  in  all. 

»  Ulloa,  vol.  i.  p.  48 


THE  EARTH.  t3l 

There  are  many  other  disorders  incident  to  the  human  body,  tha< 
seem  the  offspring  of  heat ;  but  to  mention  no  other,  tnat  very  lassi 
tude  which  prevails  in  all  the  tropical  climates,  may  be  considered  as 
a  disease.  The  inhabitants  of  India,*  says  a  modern  philosopher,  sus 
tain  an  unceasing  languor,  from  the  heats  of  their  climate,  and  are  tor 
pid  in  the  midst  of  profusion.  For  this  reason,  the  great  Disposer  ol 
nature  has  clothed  their  country  with  trees  of  an  amazing  height, 
whose  shade  might  defend  them  from  the  beams  of  the  sun  ;  and  whose 
continual  freshness  might,  in  some  measure,  temperate  their  fierceness. 
From  these  shades,  therefore,  the  air  receives  refreshing  moisture,  and 
animals  a  cooling  protection.  The  whole  race  of  savage  animals  re- 
tire, in  the  midst  of  the  day,  to  the  very  centre  of  the  forest,  not  so 
much  to  avoid  their  enemy  man,  as  to  find  a  defence  against  the 
raging  heats  of  the  season.  This  advantage  which  arises  from  shade 
in  torrid  climates,  may  probably  afford  a  solution  for  that  extraordi- 
nary circumstance  related  by  Boyle,  which  he  imputes  to  a  different 
cause.  In  the  island  of  Ternate,  belonging  to  the  Dutch,  a  place  that 
had  been  long  celebrated  for  its  beauty  and  healthfulness,  the  clove- 
trees  grew  in  such  plenty,  that  they  in  some  measure  lessened  their 
own  value  :  for  this  reason,  the  Dutch  resolved  to  cut  down  the  forests, 
and  thus  to  raise  the  price  of  the  commodity  :  but  they  had  soon  rea- 
son to  repent  of  their  avarice ;  for  such  a  change  ensued,  by  cutting 
down  the  trees,  that  the  whole  island,  from  being  healthy  and  delight- 
ful, having  lost  its  charming  shades,  became  extremely  sickly,  and  has 
actually  continued  so  to  this  day.  Boerhaave  considered  heat  so  pre- 
judicial to  health,  that  he  was  never  seen  to  go  near  a  fire. 

An  opposite  set  of  calamities  are  the  consequence,  in  climates  where 
the  air  is  condensed  by  cold.  In  such  places,  all  that  train  of  distem- 
pers which  are  known  to  arise  from  obstructed  perspiration,  are  very 
common  ;t  eruptions,  boils,  scurvy,  and  a  loathsome  leprosy,  that 
covers  the  whole  body  with  a  scurf,  and  white  putrid  ulcers.  These 
disorders  also  are  infectious ;  and,  while  they  thus  banish  the  patient 
from  society,  they  generally  accompany  him  to  the  grave.  The  men 
of  those  climates  seldom  attain  to  the  age  of  fifty  ;  but  the  women, 
who  do  not  lead  such  laborious  lives,  are  found  to  live  longer. 

The  autumnal  complaints  which  attend  a  wet  summer,  indicate  the 
dangers  of  a  moist  air.  The  long  continuance  of  an  east  wind  also, 
shews  the  prejudice  of  a  dry  one.  Mineral  exhalations,  when  copious, 
are  every  where  known  to  be  fatal ;  and  although  we  probably  owe 
the  increase  and  luxuriance  of  vegetation  to  a  moderate  degree  of  their 
warmth,  yet  the  natives  of  those  countries  where  there  are  mines  in 
plenty,  but  too  often  experience  the  noxious  effects  of  their  vicinity. 
Those  trades  also  that  deal  in  the  preparations  of  metals  of  all  kinds, 
are  always  unwholesome  ;  and  the  workmen,  after  some  time,  are 
generally  seen  to  labour  under  palsies,  and  other  nervous  complaints. 
The  vapours  from  some  vegetable  substances  are  well  known  to  Ue 
attended  with  dangerous  effects.  The  shade  of  the  machine!  tree,  in 
America,  is  said  to  be  fatal,  as  was  that  of  the  juniper,  if  we  may  credit 
'he  anci3nts.  Those  who  walk  through  fields  of  poppies,  or  in  auv 

*  I  in"«i  Amenitates,  vol.  v.  p.  444       A  Crantz's  History  oi  Greenland,  vol.  i.  p.  235 


132  A  HISTORY  OF 

maruei  prepare  ihose  flowers  for  making  opium,  are  very  sensibh 
affected  with  the  drowsiness  they  occasion.  A  physician  of  Mr. 
Beyle's  acquaintance,  causing  a  large  quantity  of  black  hellebore  to 
be  pounded  in  a  mortar,  most  of  the  persons  who  were  in  the  room, 
and  especially  the  person  who  pounded  it,  were  purged  by  it,  and  some 
of  them  strongly.  He  also  gathered  a  certain  plant  in  Ireland,  which 
the  person  who  beat  in  a  mortar,  and  the  physician  who  was  stand 
ing  near,  were  so  strongly  affected  by,  that  their  hands  and  faces 
swelled  to  an  enormous  size,  and  continued  tumid  for  a  -ong  time  after 

But  neither  mineral  nor  vegetable  steams  are  so  dangerous  to  the 
constitution,  as  those  proceeding  from  animal  substances,  putrefying 
either  by  disease  or  death.  The  effluvia  that  comes  from  diseased 
bodies,  propagate  that  frightful  catalogue  of  disorders  which  are  called 
infectious.  The  parts  which  compose  vegetable  vapours  and  mineral 
exhalations,  seem  gross  and  heavy,  in  comparison  of  these  volatile 
vapours,  that  go  to  great  distances,  and  have  been  described  as  spread- 
ing desolation  over  the  whole  earth.  They  fly  every  where  ;  pene- 
trate every  where  ;  and  the  vapours  that  fly  from  a  single  disease, 
render  it  soon  epidemic. 

The  plague  is  the  first  upon  the  list  in  this  class  of  human  calami- 
ties. From  whence  this  scourge  of  man's  presumption  may  have  its 
beginning,  is  not  well  known  :  but  we  well  know  that  it  is  propagated 
by  infection.  Whatever  be  the  general  state  of  the  atmosphere,  we 
learn,  from  experience,  that  the  noxious  vapours,  though  but  singly 
introduced  at  first,  taint  the  air  by  degrees  ;  every  person  infected 
tends  to  add  to  the  growing  malignity ;  and,  as  the  disorder  becomes 
more  general,  the  putrescence  of  the  air  becomes  more  noxious,  so  that 
the  symptoms  are  aggravated  by  continuance.  When  it  is  said  that  the 
origin  of  this  disorder  is  unknown,  it  implies,  that  the  air  seems  to 
be  but  little  employed  in  first  producing  it.  There  are  some  coun- 
tries, even  in  the  midst  of  Africa,  that  we  learn  have  never  been 
infected  with  it ;  but  continue,  for  centuries,  unmolested.  On  the 
contrary,  there  are  others,  that  are  generally  visited  once  a  year,  as 
in  Egypt,  which,  nevertheless,  seems  peculiarly  blessed  with  the  se- 
renity and  temperature  of  its  climate.  In  the  former  countries,  which 
are  of  vast  extent,  and  many  of  them  very  populous,  every  thing 
should  seem  to  dispose  the  air  to  make  the  plague  continual  among 
them.  The  great  heats  of  the  climate,  the  unwholesomeness  of  the 
food,  the  sloth  and  dirt  of  the  inhabitants,  but,  above  all,  the  bloody 
battles  which  are  continually  fought  among  them,  after  which  heaps 
of  dead  bodies  are  left  unburied,  and  exposed  to  putrefaction.  All 
these  one  might  think  would  be  apt  to  bring  the  plague  among  them, 
and  yet,  nevertheless,  we  are  assured  by  Leo  Africanus,  that  in  Nu- 
midia  the  plague  is  not  known  once  in  a  hundred  years ;  and  that  in 
Negioland,  it  is  not  known  at  all.  This  dreadful  disorder,  therefore, 
must  have  its  rise,  not  from  any  previous  disposition  of  the  air,  but 
from  some  particular  cause,  beginning  with  one  individual,  and  ex 
tending  the  malignity,  by  communication,  till  at  last  the  air  becomes 
actually  tainted  by  the  generality  of  the  infection. 

The  plague  which  spread  itself  over  the  whole  world,  in  the  yeai 
1346,  as  we  are  told  by  Mezeray,  was  so  contagious,  that  scarce  a  v«' 


THE  EARTH  13S 

lage,  or  even  a  house,  escaped  being  infected  by  it.  Before  it  had 
readied  Europe,  it  had  been  for  two  years  travelling  from  the  great 
kingdom  of  Cathay,  where  it  began  by  a  vapour  most  horridly  foetid  ; 
this  broke  out  of  the  earth  like  a  subterranean  fire,  and  upon  the  first 
instant  of  its  eruption,  consumed  and  desolated  above  two  hundred 
leagues  of  that  country,  even  to  the  trees  and  stones. 

In  that  great  plague  which  desolated  the  city  of  London,  in  the  year 
1  G(K>,  a  pious  and  learned  schoolmaster  of  Mr.  Boyle's  acquaintance,  who 
ventured  to  stay  in  the  city,  and  took  upon  him  the  humane  office  of 
visiting  the  sick  and  the  dying,  who  had  been  deserted  by  better  phy- 
sicians, averred,  that  being  once  called  to  a  poor  woman  who  had 
buried  her  children  of  the  plague,  he  found  the  room  where  she  lay 
so  little  that  it  scarce  could  hold  any  more  than  the  bed  whereon  she 
was  stretched.  However,  in  this  wretched  abode,  beside  her,  in  an 
open  coffin,  her  husband  lay,  who  had  some  time  before  died  of  the 
same  disease  ;  and  whom  she,  poor  creature,  soon  followed.  But  what 
shewed  the  peculiar  malignity  of  the  air,  thus  suffering  from  animal 
putrefaction,  was,  that  the  contagious  steams  had  produced  spo'ts  on 
the  very  wall  of  their  wretched  apartment :  and  Mr.  Boyle's  own 
study,  which  was  contiguous  to  a  pesthouse,  was  also  spotted  in  the 
same  frightful  manner.  Happily  for  mankind,  this  disorder,  for  more 
than  a  century  has  not  been  known  in  our  island ;  and,  for  this  last 
age,  has  abated  much  of  its  violence,  even  in  those  countries  where  it 
is  most  common.  Diseases,  like  empires,  have  their  revolutions ;  and 
those  which  for  a  while  were  the  scourge  of  mankind,  sink  unheard 
of,  to  give  place  to  new  ones,  more  dreadful,  as  being  less  understood. 

For  this  revolution  in  disorders,  which  has  employed  the  specula- 
tion of  many,  Mr.  Boyle  accounts  in  the  following  manner  :  "  Since," 
says  he,  "  there  want  not  causes  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  to  make 
considerable  changes  amongst  the  materials  that  Nature  has  plentiful- 
ly treasured  up  in  those  magazines,  and  as  those  noxious  steams  are 
abundantly  supplied  to  the  surface,  it  may  not  seem  improbable,  that 
in  this  great  variety,  some  may  be  found  capable  of  affecting  the  hu- 
man frame  in  a  particular  manner,  and  thus  of  producing  new  diseas- 
es. The  duration  of  these  may  be  greater  or  less,  according  to  the 
lastingness  of  those  subterraneous  causes  that  produced  them.  On 
which  account,  it  need  be  no  wonder  that  some  diseases  have  but  a 
short  duration,  and  vanish  not  long  after  they  appear ;  whilst  others 
may  continue  longer,  as  having  under  ground  more  settled  and  dura- 
ble causes  to  maintain  them." 

From  the  recital  of  this  train  of  mischiefs  produced  by  the  air,  ujv 
on  minerals,  plants,  animals,  and  man  himself,  a  gloomy  mind  may  be 
apt  to  dread  this  indulgent  nurse  of  nature  as  a  cruel  and  an  inexora- 
ble step-mother :  but  it  is  far  otherwise  ;  and,  although  we  are  some- 
rimes  injured,  yet  almost  all  the  comforts  and  blessings  of  life  spring 
from  its  propitious  influence.  It  would  be  needless  to  observe  that  it 
is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  support  of  our  lives  ;  for  of  this  every 
moment's  experience  assures  us.  But  how  it  contributes  to  this  sup- 
port, is  not  so  readily  comprehended.  All  allow  it  to  be  a  friend,  to 
whose  benefits  we  are  constantly  obliged  ;  and  yet,  to  this  hour,  phi- 
losophers are  divided  as  to  the  nature  of  the  obligati  .m  The  dispute 


1*4  A  HISTORY  OF 

is  M  tietner  the  air  is  only  useful  by  its  weight  to  force  our  juices  into 
circulation:*  or,  whether,  by  containing  a  peculiar  spirit,  it  mixes 
with  the  blood  in  our  vessels,  and  acts  like  a  spur  to  their  industry.! 
Perhaps  it  may  exert  both  these  useful  offices  at  the  same  time.  Its 
weight  may  give  the  blood  its  progressive  motion,  through  the  larger 
vessels  of  the  body  ;  and  its  admixture  with  it,  cause  those  contrac- 
tions of  all  the  vessels,  which  serve  to  force  it  still  more  strongly  for- 
ward, through  the  minutest  channels  of  the  circulation.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  it  is  well  known,  that  that  part  of  our  blood  which  has  just  re- 
ceived the  influx  of  the  air  in  our  bodies,  is  of  a  very  different  colour 
from  that  which  has  almost  performed  its  circuit.  It  has  been  found, 
that  the  arterial  blood  which  has  been  immediately  mixed  with  the  air 
in  the  lungs,  and,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  is  just  beginning  its  journey 
through  the  body,  is  of  a  fine  florid  scarlet  colour  ;  while,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  blood  of  the  veins  that  is  returning  from  having  performed 
its  duty,  is  of  a  blackish  crimson  hue.  Whence  this  difference  of 
colour  should  proceed,  is  not  well  understood  ;  we  only  know  the  fact, 
that  this  florid  colour  is  communicated  by  the  air ;  and  we  are  well 
convinced,  that  this  air  has  been  admitted  into  the  blood  for  very  use- 
ful purposes. 

Besides  this  vital  principle  in  animals,  the  air  also  gives  life  and 
body  to  flame.  A  candle  quickly  goes  out  in  an  exhausted  receiver  ;  for 
having  soon  consumed  the  quantity  of  air,  it  then  expires  for  want  of 
a  fresh  supply.  There  has  been  a  flame  contrived  that  will  burn  un- 
der water ;  but  none  has  yet  been  found,  that  will  continue  to  burn 
without  air.  Gunpowder,  which  is  the  most  catching  and  powerful 
fire  we  know,  will  not  go  off  in  an  exhausted  receiver :  nay,  if  a  train 
of  gunpowder  be  laid,  so  as  that  one  part  may  be  fired  in  the  open 
air,  yet  the  other  part  in  vacuo  will  remain  untouched,  and  uncon- 
sumed.  Wood  also  set  on  fire,  immediately  goes  out ;  and  its  flame 
ceases  upon  removing  the  air  ;  for  something  is  then  wanting  to  press 
the  body  of  the  fire  against  that  of  the  fuel,  and  to  prevent  the  too 
speedy  diffusion  of  the  flame.  We  frequently  see  cooks,  and  others, 
whose  business  it  is  to  keep  up  strong  fires,  take  proper  precautions 
to  exclude  the  beams  of  the  sun  from  shining  upon  them,  which  effec- 
tually puts  them  out.  This  they  are  apt  to  ascribe  to  a  wrong  cause ; 
namely,  the  operation  of  the  light ;  but  the  real  fact  is,  that  the 
warmth  of  the  sun-beams  lessens  and  dissipates  the  body  of  the  air 
that  goes  to  feed  the  flame ;  and  the  fire,  of  consequence,  languishes 
for  want  of  a  necessary  supply. 

The  air,  while  it  thus  kindles  fire  into  flame,  is,  notwithstanding, 
found  to  moderate  the  rays  of  light,  to  dissipate  their  violence,  and  to 
spread  a  uniform  lustre  over  every  object.  Were  the  beams  of  the 
sun  to  darl  directly  upon  us,  without  passing  through  this  protecting 
medium,  they  would  either  burn  us  up  at  once,  or  blind  us  with  their 
effulgence.  But  by  going  through  the  air,  they  are  reflected,  refract- 
ed, and  turned  from  their  direct  course,  a  thousand  different  ways  ; 
and  thus  are  more  evenly  diffused  over  the  face  of  nature. 

Among  the  other  necessary  benefits  the  air  is  of  to  us,  one  of  the 

*  Kcil      Robinson.  •"•  Whytt  upon  vital  and  involuntary  Motion*. 


THE  EARTH.  135 

principal  is  its  conveyance  of  sound.     Even  the  vibrations  of  a  bell, 
\vhich  have  the  loudest  effect  that  we  know  of,  cease  to  be  heard, 
when  under  the  receiver  of  an  air-pump.     Thus  all  the  pleasures  we  re- 
ceive from  conversation  with  each  other,  or  from  music,  depend  en 
tirely  upon  the  air. 

Odours  likewise  are  diffused  only  by  the  means  of  air  ;  without  this 
lluid  to  swim  in,  they  would  for  ever  remain  torpid  in  their  respective 
substances  ;  and  the  rose  would  affect  us  with  as  little  sensations  of 
pleasure,  as  the  thorn  on  which  it  grew. 

Those  who  are  willing  to  augment  the  catalogue  of  the  benefits  we 
receive  from  this  element,  assert  also,  that  tastes  themselves  would  be 
insipid,  were  it  not  that  the  air  presses  their  parts  upon  the  nerves  of 
the  tongue  and  palate,  so  as  to  produce  their  grateful  effects.  Thus, 
continue  they,  upon  the  tops  of  high  mountains,  as  on  the  Peak  of 
Teneriffe,  the  most  poignant  bodies,  as  pepper,  ginger,  salt,  and  spice, 
have  no  sensible  taste,  for  want  of  their  particles  being  thus  sent  home 
to  the  sensory.  But  we  owe  the  air  sufficient  obligations,  not  to  be 
studious  of  admitting  this  among  the  number :  in  fact,  all  substances 
have  their  taste,  as  well  on  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  as  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  valley ;  and  I  have  been  one  of  many,  who  have  ate  a 
very  savoury  dinner  on  the  Alps. 

It  is  sufficient,  therefore,  that  we  regard  the  air  as  the  parent  of 
health  and  vegetation ;  as  a  kind  dispenser  of  light  and  warmth ;  and 
as  the  conveyer  of  sounds  and  odours.  This  is  an  element  of  which 
avarice  will  not  deprive  us ;  and  which  power  cannot  monopolize. 
The  treasures  of  the  earth,  the  verdure  of  the  fields,  and  even  .the  re- 
freshments of  the  stream,  are  too  often  seen  going  only  to  assist  the 
luxuries  of  the  great ;  while  the  less  fortunate  part  of  mankind  stand 
humble  spectators  of  their  encroachments.  But  the  air  no  limitations 
can  bound,  nor  any  landmarks  restrain.  In  this  benign  element,  all 
mankind  can  boast  an  equal  possession  ;  and  for  this  we  all  have 
equal  obligations  to  Heaven.  We  consume  a  part  of  it,  for  our  own 
sustenance,  while  we  live ;  and,  when  we  die,  our  putrefying  bodies 
give  back  the  supply,  which,  during  life,  we  had  accumulated  from  the 
general  mass. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

OP  WINDS,  IRREGULAR  AND  REGULAR. 

VViND  is  a  current  of  air.  Experimental  philosophers  produce  an 
artificial  wind,  by  an  instrument  called  an  aolipile.  This  is  nothing 
more  than  a  hollow  copper  ball,  with  a  long  pipe  ;  a  tea-kettle  might 
be  readily  made  into  one,  if  it  were  entirely  closed  at  tne  lid,  and  the 
spout  left  open ;  through  this  spout  it  is  to  be  filled  with  water,  and 
then  set  upon  the  fire,  by  which  means  it  produces  a  violent  blast, 
like  wind,  which  continues  while  there  is  any  water  remaining  in  tlnj 
instrument.  In  this  manner  water  is  converted  into  a  rushing  ail  ; 
which,  if  caught  as  it  goes  out,  and  left  to  cool,  is  again  quickly  con 
verted  into  its  former  element.  Besides  this,  as  was  mentioned  >n  th»» 


136  A  HISTORY  OF 

rormer  chapter,  almost  every  substance  contains  some  portions  of  aj; 
Vegetables,  or  the  bodies  of  animals  left  to  putrefy,  produce  it  in  a 
very  copious  manner.  •  But  it  is  not  only  seen  thus  escaping  from 
bodies,  but  it  may  be  very  easily  made  to  enter  into  them.  A  quan- 
tity of  air  may  be  compressed  into  water,  so  as  to  be  intimately  blend- 
ed with  it.  It  finds  a  much  easier  admission  into  wine,  or  any  fer- 
mented liquor ;  and  an  easier  still,  into  spirits  of  wine.  Some  salts 
suck  up  the  air  in  such  quantities,  that  they  are  made  sensibly  heavier 
thereby,  and  often  are  melted  by  its  moisture.  In  this  manner,  most 
bodies,  being  found  either  capable  of  receiving  or  affording  it,  we  are 
not  to  be  surprised  at  those  streams  of  air  that  are  continually  fleeting 
round  the  globe. — Minerals,  vegetables,  and  animals,  contribute  to  in- 
crease the  current  ;  and  are  sending  off  their  constant  supplies. 
These,  as  they  are  differently  affected  by  cold  or  heat,  by  mixture  or 
putrefaction,  all  yield  different  quantities  of  air  at  different  times ; 
and  the  loudest  tempests,  and  most  rapid  whirlwinds,  are  formed  from 
their  united  contributions. 

The  sun  is  the  principal  instrument  in  rarefying  the  juices  of  plants, 
so  as  to  give  an  escape  to  their  imprisoned  air ;  it  is  also  equally  ope- 
rative in  promoting  the  putrefaction  of  animals.  Mineral  exhalations 
are  more  frequently  raised  by  subterranean  heat.  The  moon,  the 
other  planets,  the  seasons,  are  all  combined  in  producing  these  effects 
in  a  smaller  degree.  Mountains  give  a  direction  to  the  courses  of  the 
air.  Fires  carry  a  current  of  air  along  their  body.  Night  and  day 
alternately  chill  and  warm  the  earth,  and  produce  an  alternate  current 
of  its  vapours.  These,  and  many  other  causes,  may  be  assigned  for 
the  variety,  and  the  activity  of  the  winds,  their  continual  change,  and 
uncertain  duration. 

With  us  on  land,  as  the  wind  proceeds  from  so  many  causes,  and 
meets  such  a  variety  of  obstacles,  there  can  be  but  little  hopes  of  ever 
bringing  its  motions  to  conform  to  theory  ;  or  of  foretelling  how  it 
may  blow  a  minute  to  come.  The  great  Bacon,  indeed,  was  of  opinion, 
that  by  a  close  and  regular  history  of  the  winds,  continued  for  a  number 
of  ages  together,  and  the  particulars  of  each  observation  reduced  to 
general  maxims,  we  might  at  last  come  to  understand  the  variations 
of  this  capricious  element ;  and  that  we  could  foretell  the  certainty  of 
a  wind,  with  as  much  ease  as  we  now  foretell  the  return  of  an  eclipse. 
Indeed,  his  own  beginnings  in  this  arduous  undertaking  seem  to  speak 
the  possibility  of  its  success ;  but,  unhappily  for  mankind,  this  inves- 
tigation is  the  work  of  ages,  and  we  want  a  Bacon  to  direct  the 
process. 

To  be  able,  therefore,  with  any  plausibility,  to  account  for  the  va- 
riations of  the  wind  upon  land,  is  not  to  be  at  present  expected  ;  and 
to  understand  any  thing  of  their  nature,  we  must  have  recourse  to 
those  places  where  they  are  more  permanent  and  steady.  This  uni- 
formity and  steadiness  we  are  chiefly  to  expect  upon  the  ocean. 
There,  where  there  is  no  variety  of  substances  to  furni§h  the  air  with 
various  and  inconstant  supplies,  where  there  are  no  mountains  to  di- 
rect the  course  of  its  current,  but  where  all  is  extensively  uniform  and 
even  ;  in  such  a  place,  the  wind  arising  from  a  simple  cause,  must  have 
out  one  simole  motion.  In  fact,  we  find  it  so.  There  are  miry  p<rt» 


THE  EARTH  137 

of  the  world  where  the  winds,  that  with  us  are  so  uncertain,  pay  theii 
stated  visits.  In  some  places  they  are  found  to  blow  one  way  by  day, 
and  another  by  night ;  in  others,  for  one  half*  of  the  year  they  go  io 
a  direction  contrary  to  their  former  course  :  but  what  is  more  extraor 
dinarv  still,  there  are  some  places  where  the  winds  never  change,  bin 
for  ever  blow  the  same  way.  This  is  particularly  found  to  obtain  be- 
tween the  tropics  in  the  Atlantic  and  jEthiopic  oceans ;  as  well  as 
in  the  great  Pacific  sea. 

Few  things  can  appear  more  extraordinary  to  a  person  who  has 
never  been  out  of  our  variable  latitudes,  than  this  steady  wind,  that 
for  ever  sits  in  the  sail,  sending  the  vessel  forward  ;  and  as  effectually 
preventing  its  return.  He  who  has  been  taught  to  consider  that  nothing 
in  the  world  is  so  variable  as  the  winds,  must  certainly  be  surprised 
to  find  a  place  where  there  is  nothing  more  uniform.  With  us  their 
inconstancy  has  become  a  proverb  ;  with  the  natives  of  those  distant 
climates  they  may  talk  of  a  friend  or  a  mistress  as  fixed  and  un- 
changeable as  the  winds,  and  mean  a  compliment  by  the  comparison. 
When  our  ships  are  once  arrived  into  the  proper  latitudes  of  the  great 
Pacific  ocean,  the  mariner  forgets  the  helm,  and  his  skill  becomes  al- 
most useless :  neither  storms  nor  tempests  are  known  to  deform  the 
glassy  bosom  of  that  immense  sheet  of  waters :  a  gentle  breeze,  that 
forever  blows  in  the  same  direction,  rests  upon  the  canvass,  and  speeds 
the  navigator.  In  the  space  of  six  weeks,  ships  are  thus  known  to 
cross  an  immense  ocean,  that  takes  more  than  so  many  m'onths  to  re- 
turn. Upon  returning,  the  trade-wind,  which  has  been  propitious,  is 
then  avoided ;  the  mariner  is  generally  obliged  to  steer  into  the 
northern  latitudes,  and  to  take  the  advantage  of  every  casual  wind  that 
offers,  to  assist  him  into  port.  This  wind,  which  blows  with  such  con- 
stancy one  way,  is  known  to  prevail  not  only  in  the  Pacific  ocean, 
but  also  in  the  Atlantic,  between  the  coasts  of  Guinea  and  Brazil ;  and, 
likewise,  in  the  ^Ethiopic  ocean.  This  seems  to  be  the  great  univer- 
sal wind,  blowing  from  the  east  to  the  west,  that  prevails  in  all  the 
extensive  oceans,  where  the  land  does  not  frequently  break  the  gene- 
ral current.  Were  the  whole  surface  of  the  globe  an  ocean,  there 
would  probably  be  but  this  one  wind,  for  ever  blowing  from  the  east, 
and  pursuing  the  motions  of  the  sun  westward.  All  the  other  winds 
seem  subordinate  to  this  ;  and  many  of  them  are  made  from  the  devi- 
ations of  its  current.  To  form,  therefore,  any  conception  relative  to 
the  variations  of  the  wind  in  general,  it  is  proper  to  begin  with  that 
which  never  varies. 

There  have  been  many  theories  to  explain  this  invariable  motion  of 
the  winds ;  among  the  rest,  we  cannot  omit  that  of  Dr.  Lyster,  for  its 
strangeness.  "  The  sea,"  says  he,  "  in  those  latitudes,  is  generally 
covered  over  with  green  weeds,  for  a  great  extent ;  and  the  air  pro- 
iuced  from  the  vegetable  perspiration  of  these,  produces  the  trade- 
wind."  The  theory  of  Cartesius  was  not  quite  so  absurd.  He  al- 
leged, that  the  earth  went  round  faster  than  its  atmosphere  at  the 
equator  ;  so  that  its  motion,  from  west  to  east,  gave  the  atmosphere 
an  imaginary  one  from  east  to  west ;  and  thus  an  east  wind  was  eter- 
nally seen  to  prevail.  Rejecting  those  arbitrary  opinions,  conceiv 
ed  without  force,  and  asserted  without  proof,  Dr.  Hallev  has  given 


13(.  A  HISTORY  OF 

one  nv»re  plausible  ;  which  seems  to  be  the  reigning  system  of  the 
day. 

To  conceive  his  opinion  clearly,  let  us  for  a  moment  suppose  tha 
whole  surface  of  the  earth  to  be  an  ocean,  and  the  air  encompassing 
it  on  every  side,  without  motion.  Now  it  is  evident,  that  that  part  ot 
the  air  which  lies  directly  under  the  beams  of  the  sun,  will  be  rarefied ; 
and  if  the  sun  remained  for  ever  in  the  same  place,  there  would  be  a 
great  vacuity  in  the  air,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  beneath  the  place  where 
the  sun  stood.  The  sun  moving  forward,  from  east  to  west,  this  va- 
cuity will  follow  too,  and  still  be  made  under  it.  But  while  it  goes 
on  to  make  new  vacuities,  the  air  will  rush  in  to  fill  up  those  the  sun 
has  already  made ;  in  other  words,  as  it  is  still  travelling  forward,  the 
air  will  continually  be  rushing  in  behind,  and  pursue  its  motions  from 
east  to  west.  In  this  manner  the  air  is  put  into  motion  by  day ;  and 
by  night  the  parts  continue  to  impel  each  other,  till  the  next  return  of 
the  sun,  that  gives  a  new  force  to  the  circulation. 

In  this  manner  is  explained  the  constant  east  wind  that  is  found 
blowing  round  the  globe,  near  the  equator.  But  it  is  also  known,  that 
as  we  recede  from  the  equator  on  either  side,  we  come  into  a  trade-wind, 
that  continually  blows  from  the  poles,  from  the  north  on  one  side,  or 
the  south  on  the  other,  both  directing  towards  the  equator.  This  also 
proceeds  from  a  similar  cause  with  the  former  ;  for  the  air  being 
more  rarefied  in  those  places  over  which  the  sun  more  directly  darts 
its  rays,  the  currents  will  come  both  from  the  north  and  the  south,  to 
fill  up  the  intermediate  vacuity. 

These  two  motions,  namely,  the  general  one  from  east  to  west,  and 
the  more  particular  one  from  both  the  poles,  will  account  for  all  the 
phaenomena  of  trade-winds  ;  which,  if  the  whole  surface  of  the  globe 
were  sea,  would  undoubtedly  be  constant,  and  for  ever  continue  to 
blow  in  one  direction.  But  there  are  a  thousand  circumstances  to 
break  these  air-currents  into  smaller  ones  ;  to  drive  them  back  against 
their  general  course  ;  to  raise  or  depress  them  ;  to  condense  them 
into  storms,  or  to  whirl  them  in  eddies.  In  consequence  of  this,  re- 
gard must  be  often  had  to  the  nature  of  the  soil,  the  position  of  the 
high  mountains,  the  course  of  the  rivers,  and  even  to  the  luxuriance 
of  vegetation. 

If  a  country  lying  directly  under  the  sun  be  very  flat  and  sandy, 
and  if  the  land  be  low  and  extensive,  the  heats  occasioned  by  the  re- 
flection of  the  sun-beams  produces  a  very  great  rarefaction  of  the  air. 
The  deserts  of  Africa,  which  are  conformable  to  this  description,  are 
scarcely  ever  fanned  by  a  breath  of  wind  by  day  ;  but  the  burning  sun 
is  continually  seen  blazing  in  intolerable  splendour  above  them.  For 
this  reason,  all  along  the  coasts  of  Guinea,  the  wind  is  always  perceiv- 
ed blowing  In  upon  land,  in  order  to  fill  up  the  vacuity  caused  by  the 
sun's  operation.  In  those  shores,  therefore,  the  wind  blows  in  a  con- 
»rary  direction  to  that  of  its  general  current ;  and  is  constantly  found 
setting  in  from  the  west. 

Krom  the  same  cause  it  happens,  that  those  constant  calms,  attend- 
ed with  deluges  of  rain,  are  found  in  the  same  part  of  the  ocean.  For 
this  tract  being  placed  in  the  middle,  between  the  westerly  winds 
blowing  on  the  coast  of  Guinea,  and  the  easterly  trade-winds  thai 


THE  EARTH.  ISO 

move  at  some  distance  from  shore,  in  a  contrary  direction,  tnr  ten 
dene)  of  that  part  of  the  air  that  lies  between  these  two  opposite  cur 
rents  is  indifferent  to  either,  and  so  rests  between  both  in  torpid  se- 
renity ;  and  the  weight  of  the  incumbent  atmosphere,  being  diminish- 
ed by  the  continual  contrary  winds  blowing  from  hence,  it  is  unable 
to  keep  the  vapours  suspended  that  are  copiously  borne  thither  ;  so 
that  they  fall  in  continual  rains. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed,  that  any  theory  can  account  for  all  the 
phenomena  of  even  those  winds  that  are  known  to  be  most  regular. 
Instead  of  a  complete  system  of  the  trade-winds,  we  must  rather  be 
content  with  an  imperfect  history.  These,*  as  was  said,  being  the 
result  of  a  combination  of  effects,  assume  as  great  a  variety  as  the 
causes  producing  them  are  various. 

Besides  the  great  general  wind  above-mentioned,  in  those  parts  of 
the  Atlantic  that  lie  under  the  temperate  zone,  a  north  wind  prevails 
constantly  during  the  months  of  October,  November,  December,  and 
January.  These,  therefore,  are  the  most  favourable  months  for  em- 
barking for  the  East-Indies,  in  order  to  take  the  benefit  of  these  winds, 
for  crossing  the  Line:  and  it  has  been  often  found,  by  experience, 
that  those  who  had  set  sail  five  months  before,  were  not  in  the  least 
farther  advanced  in  their  voyage,  than  those  who  waited  for  the  fa- 
vourable wind.  During  the  winter,  off  Nova  Zembla,  and  the  other 
arctic  countries,  a  north  wind  reigns  almost  continually.  In  the  Cape 
de  Verde  Islands,  a  south  wind  prevails  during  the  month  of  July. 
At  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  a  northwest  wind  blows  during  the  month 
of  September.  There  are  also  regular  winds,  produced  by  various 
causes,  upon  land.  The  ancient  Greeks  were  the  first  who  observed 
a  constant  breeze,  produced  by  the  melting  of  the  snows,  in  some 
high  neighbouring  countries.  This  was  perceived  in  Greece,  Thrace, 
Macedonia,  and  the  vEgean  sea.  The  same  kind  of  winds  are  now 
remarked  in  the  kingdom  of  Congo,  and  the  most  southern  parts  of 
Africa.  The  flux  and  reflux  of  the  sea  also  produces  some  regular 
winds,  that  serve  the  purposes  of  trade ;  and,  in  general,  it  may  be 
observed,  that  wherever  there  is  a  strong  current  of  water,  there  is  a 
current  of  air  that  seems  to  attend  it. 

Beside  these  winds  that  are  found  to  blow  in  one  direction,  there 
are,  as  was  said  before,  others  that  blow  for  certain  months  of  the 
year  one  way,  and  the  rest  of  the  year  the  contrary  way  ;  these  are 
called  the  Monsoons,  from  a  famous  pilot  of  that  name,  who  first  used 
them  in  navigation  with  success.t  In  all  that  part  of  the  ocean  that 
lies  between  Africa  and  India,  the  east  winds  begin  at  the  month  o* 
January,  and  continue  till  about  the  commencement  of  June.  In  the 
month  of  August  or  September,  the  contrary  direction  takes  place  ;  and 
the  west  winds  prevail  for  three  or  four  months.  The  interval  between 
these  winds,  that  is  to  say,  from  the  end  of  June  to  the  beginning  of 
August,  there  is  no  fixed  wind ;  but  the  sea  is  usually  tossed  by  vio- 
lent tempests,  proceeding  from  the  north.  These  winds  are  always 
subject  to  their  greatest  variations,  as  they  approach  the  land  ;  so  that 
on  one  side  of  the  great  peninsula  of  India,  the  coasts  are,  for  neai 

*  Buffon,  vol.  >i.  p.  230.  f  Varenii  Geographia  Generalis.  cap.  20 


140  A  HISTORY  OF 

half  the  year,  harassed  by  violent  hurricanes,  and  northerr  temoests; 
while,  on  the  opposite  side,  and  all  along  the  coasts  of  C  romandel, 
these  dreadful  tempests  are  wholly  unknown.  At  Java,  and  Ceylon, 
a  west  wind  begins  to  reign  in  the  month  of  September  ;  but  at  fifteen 
degrees  of  south  latitude,  this  wind  is  found  to  be  lost,  and  the  greai 
general  trade-wind  from  the  east  is  perceived  to  prevail.  On  the  con- 
trary, at  Cochin,  in  China,  the  west  wind  begins  in  March  ;  so  thai 
these  monsoons  prevail,  at  different  seasons,  throughout  the  Indies. 
So  that  the  mariner  takes  one  part  of  the  year  to  go  from  Java  to  the 
Moluccas  ;  another  from  Cochin  to  Molucca  ;  another  from  Molucca 
to  China ;  and  still  another  to  direct  him  from  China  to  Japan. 

There  are  winds  also  that  may  be  considered  as  peculiar  to  certain 
coasts  :  for  example,  the  south  wind  is  almost  constant  upon  the  coasts 
of  Chili  and  Peru  ;  western  winds  almost  constantly  prevail  on  the 
coast  of  Terra  Magellanica  ;  and  in  the  environs  of  the  Straits  le  Maire. 
On  the  coasts  of  Malabar,  north  and  north-west  winds  prevail  continu- 
ally ;  along  the  coast  of  Guinea,  the  north-west  wind  is  also  very  fre- 
quent ;  and,  at  a  distance  from  the  coasts,  the  north-east  is  always 
found  prevailing.  From  the  beginning  of  November  to  the  end  of 
December,  a  west  wind  prevails  on  the  coasts  of  Japan ;  and,  during 
the  whole  winter,  no  ships  can  leave  the  port  of  Cochin,  on  account 
of  the  impetuosity  of  the  winds  that  set  upon  the  coast.  These  blow 
with  such  vehemence,  that  the  ports  are  entirely  choked  up  with  sand, 
and  even  boats  are  not  able  to  enter.  However,  the  east  winds  that 
prevail  for  the  other  half  of  the  year,  clear  the  mouths  of  their  har- 
bours from  the  accumulations  of  the  preceding  winter,  and  set  the 
confined  ships  at  liberty.  At  the  Straits  of  Babelmandel,  there  is  a 
south  wind  that  periodically  returns,  and  which  is  always  followed  by 
a  north-east. 

Besides  winds  thus  peculiar  to  certain  coasts,  there  are  others  found 
to  prevail  on  all  the  coasts,  in  warm  climates,  which,  during  one  part 
of  the  day,  blow  from  the  shore,  and,  during  another  part  of  it,  blow 
from  the  sea.  The  sea-breeze,  in  those  countries,  as  Dampier  ob- 
serves, commonly  rises  in  the  morning  about  nine,  proceeding  slowly, 
in  a  fine  small  black  curl,  upon  tne  surface  of  the  the  water,  and 
making  its  way  to  refresh  the  shore.  It  is  gentle  at  first,  but  increas- 
es gradually  till  twelve,  then  insensibly  sinks  away,  and  is  totally 
hushed  at  five.  Upon  its  ceasing,  the  land-breeze  begins  to  take  its 
turn,  which  increases  gradually  till  twelve  at  night,  and  is  succeeded, 
in  the  morning,  by  the  sea-breeze  again.  Without  all  doubt,  nothing 
could  be  more  fortunate,  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  warm  countries, 
where  those  breezes  blow,  than  this  alternate  refreshment,  which  they 
feel  at  those  seasons  when  it  is  most  wanted.  The  heat,  on  some 
coasts,  would  be  insupportable,  were  it  not  for  such  a  supply  of  air, 
when  the  sun  has  rarefied  all  that  which  lay  more  immediately  under 
the  coast.  The  sea-breeze  temperates  the  heat  of  the  sun  by  day  ; 
and  the  land-breeze  corrects  the  malignity  of  the  dews  and  vapours 
by  night.  Where  these  breezes,  therefore,  prevail,  and  they  are  very 
common,  the  inhabitants  enjoy  a  share  of  health  and  happiness,  un- 
known to  those  that  live  much  farther  up  the  country,  or  such  as  live 
ill  similar  latitudes  without  this  advantage.  The  cause  of  t^f.se  obvi 


THE  EARTH  141 

ously  seems  to  arise  from  the  rarefaction  of  the  air  by  the  sun,  as  tneir 
duration  continues  with  its  appearance,  and  alters  when  it  goes  down. 
The  sun,  it  is  observed,  equally  diffusing  his  beams  upon  land  ana  sea 
the  land,  being  a  more  solid  body  than  the  water,  receives  a  greater 
quantity  of  heat,  and  reflects  it  more  strongly.  Being  thus,  therefore, 
heated  to  a  greater  degree  than  the  waters,  it,  of  consequence,  drives 
the  air  from  land  out  to  sea  ;  but,  its  influence  being  removed,  the 
air  returns  to  fill  up  the  former  vacuity.  Such  is  the  usual  method  of 
accounting  for  this  phenomenon  ;  but,  unfortunately,  these"  sea  and 
land  breezes  are  visitants  that  come  at  all  hours.  On  the  coasts  of 
Malabar,*  the  land-breezes  begin  at  midnight,  and  continue  till  noon  ; 
then  the  sea-breezes  take  their  turn,  and  continue  till  midnight. 
While  again,  at  Congo,  the  land-breezes  begin  at  five,  and  continue 
till  nine  the  next  day. 

But  if  the  cause  of  these  be  so  inscrutable,  that  are,  as  we  see,  tolera- 
bly regular  in  their  visitations,  what  shall  we  say  to  the  winds  of  our 
own  climate,  that  are  continually  shifting,  and  incapable  of  rest  ? 
Some  general  causes  may  be  assigned,  which  nothing  but  particular 
experience  can  apply.  And,  in  the  first  place,  it  may  be  observed, 
that  clouds,  and  heat,  and  in  short,  whatever  either  increases  the  den- 
sity or  the  elasticity  of  the  air,  in  any  one  place,  will  produce  a  wind 
there  :  for  the  increased  activity  of  the  air  thus  pressing  more  pcwer- 
fully  on  the  parts  of  it  that  are  adjacent,  will  drive  them  forward,  and 
thus  go  on,  in  a  current,  till  the  whole  comes  to  an  equality. 

In  this  manner,  as  a  denser  air  produces  a  wind  on  one  hand ;  so 
will  any  accident,  that  contributes  to  lighten  the  air,  produce  it  on  the 
other :  for,  a  lighter  air  may  be  considered  as  a  vacuity,  into  which 
the  neighbouring  air  will  rush  :  and  hence  it  happens,  that  when  the 
barometer  marks  a  peculiar  lightness  in  the  air,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
it  foretels  a  storm. 

The  winds  upon  large  waters  are  generally  more  regular  than  those 
upon  land.  The  wind  at  sea  generally  blows  with  an  even  steady 
gale  ;  the  wind  at  land  puffs  by  intervals,  increasing  its  strength,  and 
remitting  it,  without  any  apparent  cause.  This,  in  a  great  measure, 
may  be  owing  to  the  many  mountains,  towers,  or  trees,  that  it  meets 
in  its  way,  all  contributing  either  to  turn  it  from  its  course,  or  inter 
rupt  its  passage. 

The  east  wind  blows  more  constantly  than  any  other,  and  for  an 
obvious  reason  :  all  other  winds  are,  in  some  measure,  deviations  from 
it,  and  partly  may  owe  their  origin  thereto.  It  is  generally  likewise 
the  most  powerful,  and  for  the  same  reason. 

There  are  often  double  currents  of  the  air.  While  the  wind  blows, 
one  way,  we  frequently  see  the  clouds  move  another.  This  is  general- 
ly the  case  before  thunder  ;  for  it  is  well  known  that  the  thunder-cloud 
always  moves  against  the  wind  :  the  cause  of  this  surprising  appear- 
ance has  hitherto  remained  a  secret.  From  hence  we  may  conclude, 
that  weathercocks  only  inform  us  of  that  current  of  the  air,  which  is 
near  the  surface  of  the  earth ;  but  are  often  erroneous  with  regard  tt» 
me  upper  regions,  and,  in  fact,  Derham  has  often  found  them  erroneous 

*  Button,  voi.  ii.  p.  25£ 


142  A  HISTORY  OF 

Winds  are  generally  more  powerful  on  elevated  situations  than  oc 
the  plain,  because  their  progress  is  interrupted  by  fewer  obstacles. 
In  proportion  as  we  ascend  the  heights  of  a  mountain,  the  violence 
of  the  weather  seems  to  increase  until  we  have  got  above  the  region 
of  storms,  where  all  is  usually  calm  and  serene.  Sometimes,  however, 
the  storms  rise  even  to  the  tops  of  the  highest  mountains  ;  as  we  learn 
from  those  who  have  been  on  the  Andes,  and  as  we  are  convinced  by 
the  deep  snows  that  crown  even  the  highest. 

Winds  b  owing  from  the  sea  are  generally  moister,  and  more  at- 
tended with  rains,  than  those  which  blow  over  extensive  tracts  of 
land  ;  for  the  sea  gives  off  more  vapours  to  the  air,  and  these  are  roll- 
ed forward  upon  land,  by  the  wind's  blowing  from  thence.*  For  this 
reason  our  easterly  winds,  that  blow  from  the  continent,  are  dry,  in 
comparison  of  those  that  blow  from  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  with 
which  we  are  surrounded  on  every  other  quarter. 

In  general  the  winds  are  more  boisterous  in  spring  and  autumn  than 
at  other  seasons  :  for  that  being  the  time  of  high  tides,  the  sea  may  com- 
municate a  part  of  its  motions  to  the  winds.  The  sun  and  moon,  also, 
which  then  have  a  greater  effect  upon  the  waters,  may  also  have  some 
influence  upon  the  winds  :  for,  there  being  a  great  body  of  air  surround- 
ing the  globe,  which,  if  condensed  into  water,  would  cover  it  to  the 
depth  of  thirty-two  feet,  it  is  evident  that  the  sun  and  moon  will,  to  a 
proportionable  degree,  affect  the  atmosphere,  and  make  a  tide  of  air. 
This  tide  will  be  scarcely  perceivable,  indeed ;  but,  without  doubt,  it 
actually  exists  ;  and  may  contribute  to  increase  the  vernal  and  autum- 
nal storms,  which  are  then  known  to  prevail. 

Upon  narrowing  the  passage  through  which  the  air  is  driven,  both 
ihe  density  and  the  swiftness  of  the  wind  is  increased.  For,  as  cur- 
rents of  water  flow  with  greater  force  and  rapidity  by  narrowing  their 
channels,  so  also  will  a  current  of  air,  driven  through  a  contracted 
space,  grow  more  violent  and  irresistible.  Hence  we  find  those  dread- 
ful storms  that  prevail  in  the  defiles  of  mountains,  where  the  wind, 
pushing  from  behind  through  a  narrow  channel,  at  once  increases  in 
speed  and  density,  levelling,  or  tearing  up,  every  obstacle  that  rises  to 
obstruct  its  passage. 

Winds  reflected  from  the  sides  of  mountains  and  towers,  are  often 
found  to  be  more  forceful  than  those  in  direct  progression.  This  we 
frequently  perceive  near  lofty  buildings,  such  as  churches  or  steeples, 
where  winds  are  generally  known  to  prevail,  and  are  much  more  pow 
erful  than  at  some  distance:  The  air,  in  this  case,  by  striking  against 
the  side  of  the  building,  acquires  additional  density,  and,  therefore 
blows  with  more  force. 

These  different  degrees  of  density,  which  the  air  is  found  to  pos 
sess,  sufficiently  shew  that  the  force  of  the  winds  do  not  depend  upoi. 
their  velocity  alone ;  so  that  those  instruments  called  anemometers, 
which  are  made  to  measure  the  velocity  of  the  wind,  will  by  no  means 
give  us  certain  information  of  the  force  of  the  storm.  In  order  10  es- 
timate this  with  exactness,  we  ought  to  know  its  density  ;  which  also 
these  are  not  calculated  to  discover.  For  this  reason  we  often  »«» 

»  Derham's  Physico-Theol. 


THE  EARTH.  US 

storms,  with  very  powerful  effects,  that  do  not  seem  to  shew  an}'  great 
speed  ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  we  see  these  wind-measurers  go  round  .vith 
great  swiftness,  when  scarce  any  damage  has  followed  from  the  storm. 

Such  is  the  nature  and  ihe  inconstancy  of  the  irregular  winds  with 
which  we  are  best  acquainted.  But  their  effects  are  much  more  for- 
midable in  those  climates  near  the  tropics,  where  they  are  often  found 
to  break  in  upon  the  steady  course  of  the  trade-winds,  and  to  mark 
their  passage  with  destruction.  With  us,  the  tempest  is  but  rarely 
known,  and  its  ravages  are  registered  as  an  uncommon  calamity  ;  but 
in  the  countries  that  lie  between  the  tropics,  and  for  a  good  space  be- 
yond them,  its  visits  are  frequent,  and  its  effects  are  anticipated.  In 
these  regions  the  winds  vary  their  terrors  ;  sometimes  involving  all 
tilings  in  a  suffocating  heat ;  sometimes  mixing  all  the  elements  of 
fire,  air,  earth,  and  water  together ;  sometimes,  with  a  momentary 
swiftness,  passing  over  the  face  of  the  country,  and  destroying  all 
things  in  their  passage  ;  and  sometimes  raising  whole  sandy  deserts  in 
one  country,  to  deposit  them  upon  some  other.  We  have  little  rea- 
son, therefore,  to  envy  these  climates  the  luxuriance  of  their  soil,  or 
the  brightness  of  their  skies.  Our  own  muddy  atmosphere,  that  wraps 
us  round  in  obscurity,  though  it  fails  to  gild  our  prospects  with  sun- 
shine, or  our  groves  with  fruitage,  nevertheless  answers  the  call  of  in- 
dustry. They  may  boast  of  a  plentiful,  but  precarious  harvest ;  while, 
with  us,  the  labourer  toils  in  a  certain  expectation  of  a  moderate,  but 
a  happy  return. 

In  Egypt,*  a  kingdom  so  noted  for  its  fertility,  and  the  brightness 
of  its  atmosphere  during  summer,  the  south  winds  are  so  hot,  that  they 
almost  stop  respiration  ;  besides  which,  they  are  charged  with  such 
quantities  of  sand,  that  they  sometimes  darken  the  air  as  with  a  thick 
cloud.  These  sands  are  so  fine,  and  driven  with  such  violence,  lhat 
they  penetrate  every  where,  even  into  chests,  be  they  shut  ever  so 
closely.  If  these  winds  happen  to  continue  for  any  length  of  time, 
they  produce  epidemic  diseases,  and  are  often  followed  by  a  great  mor- 
tality. It  is  also  found  to  rain  but  very  seldom  in  that  country  ;  how- 
ever, the  want  of  showers  is  richly  compensated  by  the  copiousness 
of  their  dews,  which  greatly  tend  to  promote  vegetation. 

In  Persia,  the  winter  begins  in  November,  and  continues  till  March. 
The  cold  at  that  time  is  intense  enough  to  congeal  the  water  ;  and 
snow  falls  in  abundance  upon  their  mountains.  During  the  months  of 
March  and  April,  winds  arise,  that  blow  with  great  force,  and  seem  to 
usher  in  the  heats  of  summer.  These  return  again,  in  autumn,  with 
some  violence;  without,  however,  prgducing  any  dreadful  effects. 
But,  during  their  summer,  all  along  the  coasts  of  the  Persian  Gulf,  a 
very  dangerous  wind  prevails,  which  the  natives  call  the  Sameyel, 
still  more  dreadful  and  burning  than  that  of  Egypt,  and  attended  with 
instant  and  fatal  effects.  This  terrible  blast,  which  was  perhaps,  the 
pestilence  of  the  ancients,  instantly  kills  all  those  that  it  involves  in 
its  passage.  What  its  malignity  consists  in,  none  can  tell,  as  noiit' 
have  ever  survived  its  effects,  to  give  information.  It  frequently,  as 
I  am  told,  assumes  a  visible  form,  and  darts,  in  a  kind  of  bluish  va 

*  Buffon,  ». d.  ii.  p.  258 


14*  A  HISTORY  OF 

pour,  along  the  surface  of  the  country.  The  natives,  not  only  o 
Persia,  but  of  Arabia,  talk  of  its  effects  with  terror;  and  their  poets 
have  not  failed  to  heighten  them  with  the  assistance  of  imagination. 
They  have  described  it  as  under  the  conduct  of  a  minister  of  ven- 
geance, who  governs  its  terrors,  and  raises,  or  depresses  it,  as  he 
thinks  proper.*  These  deadly  winds  are  also  known  along  the  coasts 
of  India,  at  Negapatam,  Masulipatam,  and  Petapoli.  But.  luckily  for 
mankind,  the  shortness  of  their  duration  diminishes  the  injuries  that 
might  ensue  from  their  malignity. 

The  Cape  of  Good  Hone,  as  well  as  many  islands  in  the  West-In- 
dies, are  famous  for  their  hurricanes,  and  that  extraordinary  kind  of 
cloud  which  is  said  to  produce  them.  This  cloud,  which  is  the  fore- 
runner of  an  approaching  hurricane,  appears,  when  first  seen,  like  a 
small  black  spot,  on  the  verge  of  the  horizon ;  and  is  called,  by  sail 
ors,  the  bull's  eye,  from  being  seen  so  minute  at  a  vast  distance.  All 
this  time,  a  perfect  calm  reigns  over  the  sea  and  land,  while  the 
cloud  grows  gradually  broader  as  it  approaches.  At  length,  coming 
to  the  place  where  its  fury  is  to  fall,  it  invests  the  whole  horizon  with 
darkness.  During  all  the  time  of  its  approach,  a  hollow  murmur  is 
heard  in  the  cavities  of  the  mountains ;  and  beasts  and  animals,  sen- 
sible of  its  approach,  are  seen  running  over  the  fields,  to  seek  for 
shelter.  Nothing  can  be  more  terrible  than  its  violence  when  it  be- 
gins. The  houses  in  those  countries,  which  are  made  of  timber,  the 
better  to  resist  its  fury,  bend  to  the  blast  like  osiers,  and  again  recover 
their  rectitude.  The  sun,  which,  but  a  moment  before,  blazed  with 
meridian  splendour,  is  totally  shut  out ;  and  a  midnight  darkness  pre- 
vails, except  that  the  air  is  incessantly  illuminated  with  gleams  of 
lightning,  by  which  one  can  easily  see  to  read.  The  rain  falls,  at  the 
same  time,  in  torrents ;  and  its  descent  has  been  resembled  to  what 
pours  from  the  spouts  of  our  houses  after  a  violent  shower.  These 
hurricanes  are  not  less  offensive  to  the  sense  of  smelling  also,  and 
never  come  without  leaving  the  most  noisome  stench  behind  them. 
If  the  seamen  also  lay  by  their  wet  clothes,  for  twenty-four  hours, 
they  are  all  found  swarming  with  little  white  maggots,  that  were 
brought  with  the  hurricane.  Our  first  mariners,  when  they  visited  these 
regions,  were  ignorant  of  its  effects,  and  the  signs  of  its  approach  ; 
their  ships,  therefore,  were  dashed  to  the  bottom  at  the  first  onset ; 
and  numberless  were  the  wrecks  which  the  hurricane  occasioned. 
But,  at  present,  being  forewarned  of  its  approach,  they  strip  their 
masts  of  all  their  sails,  and  thus  patiently  abide  its  fury.  T'lese  hur 
ricaries  are  common  in  all  the  tropical  climates.  On  the  coasts  ol 
Guinea  they  have  frequently  three  or  four  in  a  day,  that  thus  shut  out 
the  heavens,  for  a  little  space ;  and,  when  past,  leave  all  again  in  for- 
mer splendour.  They  chiefly  prevail,  on  that  coast,  in  the  intervals 
of  the  trade-winds ;  the  approach  of  which  clears  the  air  of  its  mete- 
ors, and  gives  these  mortal  showers  that  little  degree  of  wholesomeness 
which  they  possess.  They  chiefly  obtain  there  during  the  months  of 
April  and  May ;  tncy  are  known,  at  Loango,  from  January  to  April ; 
->n  the  opuosile  coas*  of  Africa,  the  hurricane  season  begins  in  May  ; 

*  Herlielot.  Bibliotbeoue  Oriental 


Mangabey,  or  White  Eyelid  Monkey,  p  267. 


Red  Monkey,  p.  W. 


\Vhite-nnswl  Monkey,  n  2fi7 


THE  EARTH.  145 

and,  in  general,  whenever  a  trade-wind  begins  to  cease,  these  irregu 
.ar  tempests  are  found  to  exert  their  fury. 

All  this  is  terrible  : — but  there  is  a  tempest,  known  in  those  cli- 
mates, more  formidable  than  any  we  have  hitherto  been  describing, 
which  is  called,  by  the  Spaniards,  a  Tornado.  As  the  former  was  seen 
arriving  from  one  part  of  the  heavens,  and  making  a  line  of  destruc 
tion  ;  so  the  winds  in  this  seem  to  blow  from  every  quarter,  and  set- 
tle upon  one  destined  place,  with  such  fury,  that  nothing  can  resist 
their  vehemence.  When  they  have  all  met,  in  their  central  spot,  then 
the  whirlwind  begins  with  circular  rapidity.  The  sphere  every  mo- 
ment widens,  as  it  continues  to  turn,  and  catches  every  object  that 
lies  within  its  attraction.  This  also,  like  the  former,  is  preceded  by  a 
flattering  calm ;  the  air  is  every  where  hushed,  and  the  sea  is  as 
smooth  as  polished  glass  :  however,  as  its  effects  are  more  dreadful 
than  those  of  the  ordinary  hurricane,  the  mariner  tries  all  the  powev 
of  his  skill  to  avoid  it ;  which,  if  he  fails  of  doing,  there  is  the  great 
est  danger  of  his  going  to  the  bottom.  All  along  the  coasts  of  Guinea 
beginning  about  two  degrees  north  of  the  line,  and  so  downwardj 
lengthwise,  for  about  a  thousand  miles,  and  as  many  broad,  the  ocean 
is  unnavigable,  upon  acdount  of  these  tornadoes.  In  this  torrid  region 
there  reigns  unceasing  tornadoes,  or  continual  calms ;  among  which, 
whatever  ship  is  so  unhappy  as  to  fall,  is  totally  deprived  of  all  power 
of  escaping.  In  this  dreadful  repose  of  all  the  elements,  the  solitary 
vessel  is  obliged  to  continue,  without  a  single  breeze  to  assist  the  mari- 
ner's wishes,  except  those  whirlwinds,  which  only  serve  to  increase 
his  calamity.  At  present,  therefore,  this  part  of  the  ocean  is  totally 
avoided  ;  and,  although  there  may  be  much  gold  along  the  coasts  of 
that  part  of  Africa,  to  tempt  avarice,  yet  there  is  something,  much 
more  dreadful  than  the  fabled  dragon  of  antiquity,  to  guard  the  trea- 
sure. As  the  internal  parts  of  that  country  are  totally  unknown  to 
travellers,  from  their  burning  sands  and  extensive  deserts,  so  here  we 
find  a  vast  tract  of  ocean,  lying  off  its  shores,  equally  unvisited  by  the 
mariner. 

But  of  all  these  terrible  tempests  that  deform  the  face  of  nature, 
and  repress  human  presumption,  the  sandy  tempests  of  Arabia  and  Af- 
rica are  the  most  terrible,  and  strike  the  imagination  most  strongly 
To  conceive  a  proper  idea  of  these,  we  are  by  no  means  to  suppose 
them  resembling  those  whirlwinds  of  dust  that  we  sometimes  see  scat 
tering  in  our  air,  and  sprinkling  their  contents  upon  our  roads  or 
meadows.  The  sand-storm  of  Africa  exhibits  a  very  different  appeal - 
ance.  As  the  sand  of  which  the  whirlwind  is  composed  is  excessively 
fine,  and  almost  resembles  the  parts  of  water,  its  motion  entirely  re 
sembles  that  of  a  fluid  ;  and  the  whole  plain  seems  to  float  onward,  like 
a  slow  inundation.  The  body  of  sand  thus  rolling,  is  deep  enough  to  buty 
houses  and  palaces  in  its  bosom  :  travellers  who  are  crossing  those  ex 
tensive  deserts  perceive  its  approach  at  a  distance ;  and,  in  general,  have 
time  to  avoid  it,  or  turn  out  of  'ts  way,  as  it  generally  extends  but  to  a 
moderate  breadth.  However,  when  H  is  extremely  rapid,  or  very 
extensive,  as  sometimes  is  the  case,  no  swiftness,  no  art,  can  avail 
nothing  then  remains,  but  to  meet  death  with  fortitude,  and  submit  t« 
b«  buried  alive  with  resignation. 

VOL.   I  K 


L4C  A  HISTORY  OF 

It  is  happy  for  us  of  Britain,  that  we  have  no  such  calamity  to  .lea. 
for  from  this  even  some  parts  of  Europe  are  not  entirely  free.  We. 
nave  an  account  given  us  in  the  History  of  the  French  Academy,  of  a 
miserable  town  in  France,  that  is  constantly  in  danger  of  being  buried 
under  a  similar  inundation  ;  with  which  I  will  take  leave  to  close  this 
chapter.  u  In  the  neighbourhood  of  St.  Paul  de  Leon,  in  Lower  Brit- 
tany,* there  lies  a  tract  of  country  along  the  sea-side,  which  before 
the  year  1666  was  inhabited,  but  now  lies  deserted,  by  reason  of  the 
sands  which  cover  it,  to  the  height  of  twenty  feet ;  and  which  every 
year  advance  more  and  more  inland,  and  gain  ground  continually. 
From  the  time  mentioned  above,  the  sand  has  buried  more  than  six 
leagues  of  the  country  inward  ;  and  it  is  now  but  half  a  league  from  the 
town  of  St.  Paul ;  so  that,  in  all  appearance,  the  inhabitants  must  bo 
obliged  to  abandon  it  entirely.  In  the  country  that  has  been  over 
whelmed,  there  are  still  to  be  seen  the  tops  of  some  steeples  peeping 
through  the  sand,  and  many  chimnies  that  still  remain  above  this 
sandy  ocean.  The  inhabitants,  however,  had  sufficient  time  to  escape ; 
but  being  deprived  of  their  little  all,  they  had  no  other  resource  but 
begging  for  their  subsistence.  This  calamity  chiefly  owes  its  advance- 
ment to  a  north  or  an  east  wind,  raising  the  sand,  which  is  extremely 
fine,  in  such  great  quantities,  and  with  such  velocity,  that  M.  Deslands, 
who  gave  the  account,  says,  that  while  he  was  walking  near  the  place, 
during  a  moderate  breeze  of  wind,  he  was  obliged,  from  time  to  time, 
to  shake  the  sand  from  his  clothes  and  his  hat,  on  which  it  was  lodged 
in  great  quantities,  and  made  them  loo  heavy  to  be  easily  borne. 
Still  further,  when  the  wind  was  violent,  it  drove  the  sand  across  a 
little  arm  of  the  sea,  into  the  town  of  Roscoff,  and  covered  the  streets 
of  that  place  two  feet  deep ;  so  that  they  have  been  obliged  to  carry 
it  off  in  carts.  It  may  also  be  observed,  that  there  are  several  parti- 
cles of  iron  mixed  with  the  sand,  which  are  readily  affected  by  the 
loadstone.  The  part  of  the  coast  that  furnishes  these  sands,  is  a  tract 
of  about  four  leagues  in  length  ;  and  is  upon  a  level  with  the  sea  at 
high-water.  The  shore  lies  in  such  a  manner  as  to  leave  its  sands 
subject  only  to  the  north  and  east  winds,  that  bear  them  farther  up  the 
shore.  It  is  easy  to  conceive  how  the  same  sand  that  has  at  one 
time  been  borne  a  short  way  inland,  may,  by  some  succeeding  and 
stronger  blast,  be  carried  up  much  higher;  and  thus  the  whole  may 
continue  advancing  forward,  deluging  the  plain,  and  totally  destroying 
its  fertility.  At  the  same  time  the  sea,  from  whence  this  deluge  of 
sand  proceeds,  may  furnish  it  in  inexhaustible  quantities.  This  un- 
happy country,  thus  overwhelmed  in  so  singular  a  manner,  may  well 
justify  what  the  ancients  and  the  moderns  have  reported  concerning 
ihose  tempests  of  sand  in  Africa,  that  are  said  to  destroy  villages. 
aud  even  armies,  in  their  bosom." 

•  Histoire  del' Academic  des  Sciences,  an.  1722. 


THE  EARTH.  147 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

OF  METEORS,  AND  SUCH  APPEARANCES  AS  RESULT  FROM  A  COMBINATION 
OF  THE  ELEMENTS. 

IN  pioportion  as  the  substances  of  nature  are  more  compounded 
and  combined,  their  appearances  become  more  inexplicable  and 
amazing.  The  properties  of  water  have  been  very  nearly  ascertain- 
ed Many  of  the  qualities  of  air,  earth,  and  fire,  have  been  discovered 
and  estimated  ;  but  when  these  come  to  be  united  by  nature,  they  of- 
ten produce  a  result  which  no  artificial  combinations  can  imitate ;  and 
we  stand  surprised,  that  although  we  are  possessed  of  all  those  sub- 
stances which  nature  makes  use  of,  she  shows  herself  a  much  more 
various  operator  than  the  most  skilful  chymist  ever  appeared  to  be. 
Every  cloud  that  moves,  and  every  shower  that  falls,  serves  to  mor- 
tify the  philosopher's  pride,  and  to  show  him  hidden  qualities  in  air 
and  water,  that  he  finds  it  difficult  to  explain.  Dews,  hail,  snow,  and 
thunder,  are  not  less  difficult  for  being  more  common.  Indeed,  when  we 
reflect  on  the  manner  in  which  nature  performs  any  one  of  these 
operations,  our  wonder  increases.  To  see  water,  which  is  heavier 
than  air,  rising  in  air,  and  then  falling  in  a  form  so  very  different 
from  that  in  which  it  rose ;  to  see  the  same  fluid  at  one  time  descend- 
ing in  the  form  of  hail,  at  another  in  that  of  snow ;  to  see  two  clouds 
by  dashing  against  each  other,  producing  an  electrical  fire,  which  no 
watery  composition  that  we  know  of  can  effect ;  these,  1  say,  serve 
sufficiently  to  excite  our  wonder ;  and  still  the  more,  in  proportion  as 
the  objects  are  ever  pressing  on  our  curiosity.  Much,  however,  has 
been  written  concerning  the  manner  in  which  nature  operates  in  these 
productions;  as  nothing  is  so  ungrateful  to  mankind  as  hopeless  ig- 
norance. 

And  first,  with  regard  to  the  manner  in  which  water  evaporates, 
and  rises  to  form  clouds,  much  has  been  advanced,  and  many  theories 
devised.  All  water,*  i»ay  some,  has  a  quantity  of  air  mixed  with  it ; 
and  the  heat  of  the  sun  darting  down,  disengages  the  particles  of  thk 
air  from  the  grosser  fluid :  the  sun's  rays  being  reflected  back  from 
the  water,  carry  back  with  them  those  bubbles  of  air  and  water, 
which,  being  lighter  than  the  condensed  air,  will  ascend  till  they 
meet  with  a  more  rarefied  air  ;  and  they  will  then  stand  suspended. 
Experience,  however,  proves  nothing  of  all  this.  Particles  of  air  or 
fire,  are  not  thus  known  to  ascend  with  a  thin  coat  of  water  ;  and  in 
fact  we  know  the  little  particles  of  steam  are  solid  drops  of  water. 
But  besides  this,  water  is  known  to  evaporate  more  powerfully  in  the 
severest  frost,  than  when  the  air  is  moderately  warm.t  Dr.  Hamilton, 
therefore,  of  the  university  of  Dublin,  rejecting  this  theory,  has  en 
deavoured  to  establish  another.  According  to  him,  as  aquafortis  is  a 
menstruum  that  dissolves  iron,  and  keeps  it  mixed  in  the  fluid  ;  as 
aquaregia  is  a  menstruum  that  dissolves  gold  ;  or  as  water  dissolves 
salts  to  a  certain  quantity  ;  so  air  is  a  menstruum  that  corrodes  ana 
lissolves  ?.  certain  quantity  of  water,  and  keeps  it  suspended  above. 

»  Spectacle  de  la  Nature,  vol.  iii.      4-  Memoires  de  ('Academic  des  Sciences,  an.  1705 


145  A   HISTORY  OF 

But  however  ingenious  this  may  be,  it  can  hardly  be  admitted  ;  as  we 
know  by  Mariotte's  experiment,*  that  if  water  and  air  be  inclosed  to- 
gether, instead  of  the  air's  acting  as  a  menstruum  upon  the  water,  the 
water  will  act  as  a  menstruum  upon  the  air,  and  take  it  all  up.  Wt- 
know  also,  that  of  two  bodies,  that  which  is  most  fluid  and  penetrating, 
is  most  likely  to  be  the  menstruum  of  the  other  ;  but  water  is  more  fluid 
and  penetrating  than  air,  and  therefore  the  most  likely  of  the  two  to 
be  the  menstruum.  We  know  that  all  bodies  are  more  speedily  act- 
ed upon,  the  more  their  parts  are  brought  into  contact  with  the  men- 
struum that  dissolves  them  ;  but  water,  inclosed  with  compressed  air, 
is  not  the  more  diminished  thereby.!  In  short,  we  know,  that  cold, 
which  diminishes  the  force  of  other  menstruums,  is  often  found  to 
promote  evaporation.  In  this  variety  of  opinion  and  uncertainty  of 
conjecture,  I  cannot  avoid  thinking  that  a  theory  of  evaporation  may 
be  formed  upon  very  simple  and  obvious  principles,  and  embarrassed, 
as  far  as  I  can  conceive,  with  very  few  objections. 

We  know  that  a  repelling  power  prevails  in  nature,  not  less  than 
an  attractive  one.  This  repulsion  prevails  strongly  between  the  body 
of  fire  and  that  of  water.  If  I  plunge  the  end  of  a  red-hot  bar  of  iron 
into  a  vessel  of  water,  the  fluid  rises,  and  large  drops  of  it  fly  up  i-i 
all  manner  of  directions,  every  part  bubbling  and  steaming  until  the 
iron  be  cold.  Why  may  we  not  for  a  moment  compare  the  rays  of 
the  sun,  darted  directly  upon  the  surface  of  the  water,  to  so  many 
bars  of  red-hot  iron,  each  bar  indeed  infinitely  small,  but  not  the  less 
powerful  ?  In  this  case,  wherever  a  ray  of  fire  darts,  the  water,  from 
its  repulsive  quality,  will  be  driven  on  all  sides  ;  and,  of  consequence, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  bar  of  iron,  a  part  of  it  will  rise.  The  parts 
thus  rising,  however,  will  be  extremely  small ;  as  the  ray  that  darts  is 
extremely  so.  The  assemblage  of  the  rays  darting  upon  the  water  in 
this  manner,  will  cause  it  to  rise  in  a  light  thin  steam  above  the  sur- 
face ;  and  as  the  parts  of  this  steam  are  extremely  minute,  they  will 
be  lighter  than  air,  and  consequently  float  upon  it.  There  is  no  need 
for  supposing  them  bubbles  of  water  filled  with  fire  ;  for  any  substance, 
even  gold  itself,  will  float  on  air,  if  its  parts  be  made  small  enough  ;  or, 
in  other  words,  if  its  surface  be  sufficiently  increased.  This  water,  thus 
disengaged  from  the  general  mass,  will  be  still  farther  attenuated  and 
broken  by  the  reflected  rays,  and,  consequently,  more  adapted  foi 
ascending. 

From  this  plain  account,  every  appearance  in  evaporation  may  be 
easily  deduced.  The  quantity  of  heat  increases  evaporation,  because 
it  raises  a  greater  quantity  of  stearn.  The  quantity  of  wind  increases 
evaporation  ;  for,  by  waving  the  surface  of  the  water,  it  thus  exposes 
a  greater  surface  to  the  evaporating  rays.  A  dry  frost,  in  some  mea- 
sure, assists  the  quantity  of  evaporation  ;  as  the  quantity  of  rays  are 
found  to  be  no  way  diminished  thereby.  Moist  weather  alone  pre- 
vents evaporation  ;  for  the  rays  being  absorbed,  refracted,  and  broken, 
by  the  intervening  moisture,  before  they  arrive  at  the  surface,  cannot 
produce  the  effect ;  and  the  vapour  will  rise  in  a  small  proportion. 

Thus  far  we  nav*  accounted  for  the  ascent  of  vapours ;  but  to  ac- 

»  Mariotte,  tie  Id  Nature  de  1'Air,  p.  97, 106.       \  See  Boyle'8  Works,  vol.  ii.  p  659 


THE  EARTH.  149 

count  for  their  falling  again,  is  attended  with  rather  more  difficulty. 
We  have  already  observed,  that  the  particles  of  vapour,  disengaged 
from  the  surface  of  the  water,  will  be  broken  and  attenuated  in  their 
ascent,  by  the  reflected,  and  even  the  direct  rays,  that  happen  to 
strike  upon  their  minute  surfaces.  They  will,  therefore,  continue  to 
ascend,  till  they  rise  above  the  operation  of  the  reflected  rays,  whicn 
reaches  but  to  a  certain  height  above  the  surface  of  the  earth.  Being 
arrived  at  this  region,  which  is  cold  for  want  of  reflected  heat,  they 
will  be  condensed,  and  suspended  in  the  form  of  clouds.  Some  va- 
,-ours  that  ascend  to  great  heights,  will  be  frozen  into  snow ;  others, 
that  are  condensed  lower  down,  will  put  on  the  appearance  of  a  mist, 
which  we  find  the  clouds  to  be,  when  we  ascend  among  them,  as  they 
hang  along  the  sides  of  a  mountain.  These  clouds  of  snow  and  rain, 
being  blown  about  by  winds,  are  either  entirely  scattered  and  dispersed 
above,  or  they  are  still  more  condensed  by  motion,  like  a  snow-ball, 
that  grows  more  large  and  solid  as  it  continues  to  roll.  At  last,  there- 
fore, they  will  become  too  weighty  for  the  air  which  first  raised  them 
to  sustain ;  and  they  will  descend  with  their  excess  of  weight,  either 
in  snow  or  rain.  But  as  they  will  fall  precipitately,  when  they  begin 
to  descend,  the  air,  in  some  measure,  will  resist  the  falling ;  for  as  the 
descending  fluid  gathers  velocity  in  its  precipitation,  the  air  will  in- 
crease its  resistance  to  it,  and  the  water  will,  therefore,  be  thus  broken 
into  rain  ;  as  we  see,  that  water  which  falls  from  the  tops  of  houses, 
though  it  begins  in  a  spout,  separates  into  drops  before  it  has  got  to 
the  bottom.  Were  it  not  for  this  happy  interposition  of  the  air,  be- 
tween us  and  the  water  falling  from  a  considerable  height  above  us,  a 
drop  of  rain  might  fall  with  dangerous  force,  and  a  hailstone  might 
strike  us  with  fatal  rapidity. 

In  this  manner,  evaporation  is  produced  by  day  ;  but  when  the  sun 
goes  down,  a  part  of  that  vapour  which  his  rays  had  excited,  being  no 
longer  broken,  and  attenuated  by  the  reflecting  rays,  it  will  become 
heavier  than  the  air,  even  before  it  has  reached  the  clouds ;  and  it 
will,  therefore,  fall  back  in  dews,  which  differ  only  from  rain  in  de- 
scending before  they  have  had  time  to  condense  it  into  a  visible  form. 

Hail,  the  Cartesians  say,  is  a  frozen  cloud,  half  melted,  and  frozen 
again  in  its  descent.  A  hoar-frost  is  but  a  frozen  dew.  Lightning 
we  know  to  be  an  electrical  flash,  produced  by  the  opposition  of  two 
clouds  ;  and  thunder  to  be  the  sound  proceeding  from  the  same,  con- 
tinued by  an  echo  reverberated  among  them.  It  would  be  to  very 
little  purpose,  to  attempt  explaining  exactly  how  these  wonders  are 
effected  :  we  have  as  yet  but  little  insight  into  the  manner  in  which 
these  meteors  are  found  to  operate  upon  each  other ;  and,  therefore, 
we  must  be  contented  with  a  detail  rather  of  their  effects  than  their 
causes. 

In  our  own  gentle  climate,  where  nature  wears  the  mildest  and  kindest, 
aspect,  every  meteor  seems  to  befriend  us.  With  us,  rains  fall  in  re 
freshing  showers,  to  enliven  our  fields,  and  to  paint  the  landscape 
•vith  a  more  vivid  beauty.  Snows  cover  the  earth,  to  preserve  its 
tender  vegetables  from  the  inclemency  of  the  departing  winter.  The 
Jews  descend  with  such  an  imperceptible  fall  as  no  way  injures  the 
constitution.  Even  thunder  'tself  is  seldom  injurious  :  and  .t  ;s  mteu 


Ifth  A  HISTORY  OF 

wished  for  by  the  husbandman,  to  clear  the  air,  and  to  kill  number- 
less insects  that  are  noxious  to  vegetation.  Hail  is  the  most  injurious 
meteor  that  is  known  in  our  climate  ;  but  it  seldom  visits  us  with  vio- 
lence, and  then  its  fury  is  but  transient. 

One  of  the  most  dreadful  storms  we  hear  of,*  was  that  of  Hert- 
fordshire, in  the  year  1697-  It  began  by  thunder  and  lightning,  which 
continued  for  some  hours,  when  suddenly  a  black  cloud  came  forward, 
against  the  wind,  and  marked  its  passage  with  devastation.  The  hail- 
stones which  it  poured  down,  being  measured,  were  found  to  be  many 
of  them  fourteen  inches  round,  and,  consequently,  as  large  as  a  bowl- 
ing-green ball.  Wherever  it  came,  every  plantation  fell  before  it ;  it 
tore  up  the  ground,  split  great  oaks,  and  other  trees,  without  number; 
the  fields  of  rye  were  cut  down,  as  if  levelled  with  a  scythe  ;  wheat, 
oats,  and  barley,  suffered  the  same  damage.  The  inhabitants  found 
but  a  precarious  shelter,  .even  in  their  houses,  their  tiles  and  windows 
being  broke  by  the  violence  of  the  hailstones,  which,  by  the  force 
with  which  they  came,  seemed  to  have  descended  from  a  great  height. 
The  birds,  in  this  universal  wreck,  vainly  tried  to  escape  by  flight ; 
pigeons,  crows,  rooks,  and  many  more  of  the  smaller  and  feebler 
kinds,  were  brought  down.  An  unhappy  young  man,  who  had  not 
time  to  take  shelter,  was  killed  ;  one  of  his  eyes  was  struck  out  of  his 
head,  and  his  body  was  all  over  black  with  the  bruises  ;  another  had 
just  time  to  escape,  but  not  without  the  most  imminent  danger,  his 
body  being  bruised  all  over.  But  what  is  most  extraordinary,  all  this 
fell  within  the  compass  of  a  mile 

Mezeray,  in  his  history  of  France,  tells  us  of  a  shower  of  hail  much 
more  terrible,  which  happened  in  the  year  1510,  when  the  French 
monarch  invaded  Italy.  There  was,  for  a  time,  a  horrid  darkness, 
thicker  than  that  of  midnight,  which  continued  till  the  terrors  of  man- 
kind were  changed  to  still  more  terrible  objects,  by  thunder  and 
lightning  breaking  the  gloom,  and  bringing  on  such  a  shower  of  hail, 
as  no  history  of  human  calamities  could  equal.  These  hailstones  were 
of  a  bluish  colour ;  and  some  of  them  weighed  not  less  than  a  hun- 
dred pounds.  A  noisome  vapour  of  sulphur  attended  the  storm.  All 
the  birds  and  beasts  of  tho  country  were  entirely  destroyed.  Num- 
bers of  the  human  race  suffered  the  same  fate.  But  what  is  still  more 
extraordinary,  the  fishes  found  no  protection  from  their  native  ele- 
ment ;  but  were  equal  sufferers  in  the  general  calamity. 

These,  however,  are  terrors  that  are  seldom  exerted  in  our  mild 
climates.  They  only  serve  to  mark  the  page  of  history  with  wonder  : 
and  stand  as  admonitions  to  mankind,  of  the  various  stores  of  punish- 
ment in  the  hands  of  the  Deity,  which  his  power  can  treasure  up,  and 
his  mercy  can  suspend. 

In  the  temperate  zones,  therefore,  meteors  are  rarely  found  thus 
terrible  ;  but  between  the  tropics,  and  near  the  poles,  they  assume 
very  dreadful  and  various  appearances.  In  those  inclement  regions, 
where  cold  and  heat  exert  their  chief  power,  meteors  seem  peculiarly 
to  have  fixed  their  residence.  They  are  seen  there  in  a  thousand 
ferrifying  forms,  astonishing  to  Europeans,  yet  disregarded  by  the  na- 

«  PhiL  Trans,  vol.  ii.  p  147. 


THE  EARTH.  151 

lives,  from  their  frequency.  The  wonders  of  air,  fire,  and  water,  ara 
there  combined,  to  produce  the  most  tremendous  effects  ;  and  to  sport 
with  the  labours  and  apprehensions  of  mankind.  Lightnings,  that 
Hash  without  noise ;  hurricanes,  that  tear  up  the  earth  ;  clouds,  that 
all  at  once  pour  down  their  contents,  and  produce  an  instant  deluge  ; 
mock  suns  ;  northern  lights,  that  illuminate  half  the  hemisphere  ;  cir- 
cular rainbows  ;  halos  ;  fleeting  balls  of  fire  ;  clouds,  reflecting  back 
the  images  of  things  on  earth,  like  mirrors;  and  water-spouts,  that 
burst  from  the  sea,  to  join  with  the  mists  that  hang  immediately  above 
Jiem.  These  are  but  a  part  of  the  phenomena  that  are  common  in 
those  countries ;  and  from  many  of  which  our  own  climate  is,  in  a 
p-eat  measure,  exempted. 

The  meteors  of  the  torrid  zone,  are  different  from  those  that  are 
found  near  the  polar  circles ;  and  it  may  readily  be  supposed,  that  in 
those  countries  where  the  sun  exerts  the  greatest  force  in  raising  va- 
pours of  all  kinds,  there  should  be  the  greatest  quantity  of  meteors. 
Upon  the  approach  of  the  winter  months,  as  they  are  called,  under 
the  Line,  which  usually  begin  about  May,  the  sky,  from  a  fiery  bright- 
ness, begins  to  be  overcast,  and  the  whole  horizon  seems  wrapt  in  a 
muddy  cloud.  Mists  and  vapours  still  continue  to  rise  ;  and  the  air, 
which  so  lately  before  was  clear  and  elastic,  now  becomes  humid,  ob- 
scure, and  stifling ;  the  fogs  become  so  thick,  that  the  light  of  the  sun 
seems,  in  a  manner,  excluded;  nor  would  its  presence  be  known,  but 
for  the  intense  and  suffocating  heat  of  its  beams,  which  dart  through 
the  gloom,  and,  instead  of  dissipating,  only  serve  to  increase  the  mist. 
After  this  preparation,  there  follows  an  almost  continual  succession  of 
thunder,  rain,  and  tempests.  During  this  dreadful  season,  the  streets 
of  cities  flow  like  rivers ;  and  the  whole  country  wears  the  appear- 
ance of  an  ocean.  The  inhabitants  often  make  use  of  this  opportu- 
nity to  lay  in  a  stock  of  fresh  water,  for  the  rest  of  the  year ;  as  the 
same  cause  which  pours  down  the  deluge  at  one  season,  denies  the 
kindly  shower  at  another.  The  thunder  which  attends  the  fall  of 
these  rains,  is  much  more  terrible  than  that  we  are  generally  ac- 
quainted with.  With  us,  the  flash  is  seen  at  some  distance,  and  the 
noise  shortly  after  ensues ;  our  thunder  generally  rolls  in  one 
quarter  of  the  sky,  and  one  stroke  pursues  another.  But  here  it  is 
otherwise ;  the  whole  sky  seems  illuminated  with  unremitted  flashes 
of  lightning;  every  part  of  the  air  seems  productive  of  its  own  thun- 
ders ;  and  every  cloud  produces  its  own  shock.  The  strokes  come  so 
thick,  that  the  inhabitants  can  scarce  mark  the  intervals ;  but  all  is 
one  unremitted  roar  of  elementary  confusion.  It  should  seem,  how- 
ever, that  the  lightning  of  those  countries  is  not  so  fatal,  or  so  dan 
gerous,  as  with  us ;  since,  in  this  case,  the  torrid  zone  would  be  unin- 
habitable. 

When  these  terrors  have  ceased,  with  which,  however,  the  natives 
are  familiar,  meteors  of  another  kind  begin  to  make  their  appearance 
The  intense  beams  of  .he  sun,  darting  upon  stagnant  waters,  that  ge- 
nerally cover  the  surface  of  the  country,  raise  vapours  of  various 
kinds.  Floating  bodies  of  fire,  which  assume  different  names,  rather 
from  their  accidental  forms,  than  from  any  real  difference  between 
them,  are  seen  without  surprise.  The  draco  volans,  or  flying  dragcmt 


152  A  HISTORY  OF 

as  it  is  called;  the  ignis  fatuus,  or  wandering  fire;  the  fires  of  £t. 
Helmo,  or  the  mariner's  light,  are  every  where  frequent ;  and  of  these 
we  have  numberless  descriptions.  "  As  I  was  riding  in  Jamaica,"  says 
Mr.  Barbham,  "  one  morning,  from  my  habitation,  situated  about  three 
miles  north-west  from  Jago  de  la  Vega,  I  saw  a  ball  of  fire,  appearing 
to  me  of  the  bigness  of  a  bomb,  swiftly  falling  down  with  a  great  blaze. 
At  first  I  thought  it  fell  into  the  town  ;  but  when  I  came  nearer,  1 
saw  many  people  gathered  together,  a  little  to  the  southward,  in  the 
savanna,  to  whom  I  rode  up,  to  inquire  the  cause  of  their  meeting 
they  were  admiring,  as  I  found,  the  ground's  being  strangely  broke  up 
and  ploughed  by  a  ball  of  fire ;  which,  as  they  said,  fell  down  there. 
I  observed  there  were  many  holes  in  the  ground  ;  one  in  the  middle 
of  the  bigness  of  a  man's  head,  and  five  or  six  smaller  round  about  it, 
of  the  bigness  of  one's  fist,  and  so  deep  as  not  to  be  fathomed  by  such 
implements  as  were  at  hand.  It  was  observed,  also,  that  all  the  green 
herbage  was  burnt  up,  near  the  holes  ;  and  there  continued  a  strong 
smell  of  sulphur  near  the  place,  for  some  time  after." 

Ulloa  gives  an  account  of  one  of  a  similar  kind,  at  Quito.*  "  About 
nine  at  night,"  says  he,  "  a  globe  of  fire  appeared  to  rise  from  the  side 
of  the  mountain  Pichinca,  and  so  large,  that  it  spread  a  light  over  all 
the  part  of  the  city  facing  that  mountain.  The  house  where  I  lodged, 
looking  that  way,  I  was  surprised  with  an  extraordinary  light,  darting 
through  the  crevices  of  the  window-shutters.  On  this  appearance, 
and  the  bustle  of  the  people  in  the  street,  I  hastened  to  the  window, 
and  came  time  enough  to  see  it  in  the  middle  of  its  career  ;  which  con 
tinned  from  west  to  south,  till  I  lost  sight  of  it,  being  intercepted  by  a 
mountain,  that  lay  between  me  and  it.  It  was  round  ;  and  its  apparent 
diameter  about  a  foot.  I  observed  it  to  rise  from  the  sides  of  Pichin- 
ca ;  although  to  judge  from  its  course,  it  was  behind  that  mountain 
where  this  congeries  of  inflammable  matter  was  kindled.  In  the  first 
half  of  its  visible  course,  it  emitted  a  prodigious  effulgence,  then  it 
began  gradually  to  grow  dim  ;  so  that,  upon  its  disappearing  behind 
the  intervening  mountain,  its  light  was  very  faint." 

Meteors,  of  this  kind,  are  very  frequently  seen  between  the  tropics  ; 
but  they  sometimes,  also,  visit  the  more  temperate  regions  of  Europe. 
We  have  the  description  of  a  very  extraordinary  one,  given  us  by 
Montanari,  that  serves  to  shew  to  what  great  heights,  in  our  atmos- 
phere, these  vapouis  are  found  to  ascend.  In  the  year  1676,  a  great 
globe  of  fire  was  seen  at  Bononia,  in  Italy,  about  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  after  sun-set  It  passed  westward,  with  a  most  rapid  course,  and 
at  the  rate  of  not  less  than  a  hundred  and  sixty  miles  in  a  minute, 
which  is  much  swifter  than  the  force  of  a  cannon-ball,  and  at  last 
stood  over  th&  Adriatic  sea.  In  its  course  it  crossed  over  all  Italy  ; 
and,  by  computation,  it  could  not  have  been  less  than  thirty-eight 
miles  above  the  surface  of  the  earth.  In  the  whole  line  of  its  course, 
wherever  it  approached,  the  inhabitants  below  could  distinctly  hear 
it,  with  a  hissing  noise,  resembling  that  of  a  fire-work.  Having 
passed  away  to  sea,  towards  Corsica,  it  was  heard,  at  last,  to  go  ofl 
with  a  most  violent  explosion,  much  louder  than  that  of  a  cauaon  ; 

*  ITlloa,  vol.  i.  p.  41. 


THE  EARTH.  153 

and,  immediately  after,  another  noise  was  heard,  like  the  rattling  of 
a  great  cart,  upon  a  stony  pavement ;  which  was,  probably,  nothing 
more  than  the  echo  of  the  former  sound.  Its  magnitude,  when  at 
Bononia,  appeared  twice  as  long  as  the  moon,  one  way,  and  as  broad 
the  other  ;  so  that,  considering  its  height,  it  could  not  have  been  less 
than  a  mile  long,  and  half  a  mile  broad.  From  the  height  at  which 
this  was  seen,  and  there  being  no  volcano  on  that  quarter  of  the  world 
from  whence  it  came,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  this  terrible  globe 
was  kindled  on  some  part  of  the  contrary  side  of  the  globe,  in  those 
regions  of  vapours,  which  we  have  been  just  describing ;  and  thus, 
rising  above  the  air,  and  passing  in  a  course  opposite  to  that  of  the 
earth's  motion,  in  this  manner  it  acquired  its  amazing  rapidity. 

To  these  meteors,  common  enough  southward,  we  will  add  one  more 
of  a  very  uncommon  kind,  which  was  seen  by  Ulloa,  at  Quito,  in 
Peru  ;  the  beauty  of  which  will,  in  some  measure,  serve  to  relieve 
us,  after  the  description  of  those  hideous  ones  preceding.  "  At  day- 
break," says  he,  "  the  whole  mountain  of  Pambamarca,  where  we 
then  resided,  was  encompassed  with  very  thick  clouds ;  which  the  rising 
of  the  sun  dispersed  so  far,  as  to  leave  only  some  vapours,  too  fine  to  be 
seen.  On  the  side  opposite  to  the  rising  sun,  and  about  ten  fathoms 
distant  from  the  place  where  we  were  standing,  we  saw,  as  in  a  look- 
ing-glass, each  his  own  image  ;  the  head  being,  as  it  were,  the  centre 
of  three  circular  rainbows,  one  without  the  other,  and  just  near  enough 
o  each  other  as  that  the  colours  of  the  internal  verged  upon  those 
more  external  ;  while  round  all  was  a  circle  of  white,  but  with  a  greater 
space  between.  In  this  manner  these  circles  were  erected,  like  a 
mirror,  before  us ;  and  as  we  moved,  they  moved,  in  disposition  and 
order.  But,  what  is  most  remarkable,  though  we  were  six  in  num- 
ber, every  one  saw  the  phenomenon  with  regard  to  himself,  and  not 
that  relating  to  others.  The  diameter  of  the  arches  gradually  altered, 
as  the  sun  rose  above  the  horizon;  and  the  whole,  after  continuing 
a  long  time,  insensibly  faded  away.  In  the  beginning,  the  diameter 
of  the  inward  iris,  taken  from  its  last  colour,  was  about  five  degrees 
and  a  half;  and  that  of  the  white  arch,  which  surrounded  the  rest, 
was  not  less  than  sixty-seven  degrees.  At  the  beginning  of  the  phe- 
nomenon, the  arches  seemed  of  an  oval,  or  elliptical  figure,  like  the 
disk  of  the  sun ;  and  afterwards  became  perfectly  circular.  Each  of 
these  was  of  a  red  colour,  bordered  with  an  orange  ;  and  the  last  bor- 
dered by  a  bright  yellow,  which  altered  into  a  straw-colour,  and  this 
turned  to  a  green ;  but,  in  all,  the  external  colour  remained  red." 
Such  is  the  description  of  one  of  the  most  beautiful  illusions  that  has 
ever  been  seen  in  nature.  This  alone  seems  to  have  combined  al 
'he  splendours  of  optics  in  one  view.  To  understand  the  mannei, 
therefore,  how  this  phenomenon  was  produced,  would  require  a  per- 
fect knowledge  of  optics,  which  it  is  not  our  present  province  to/ 
enter  upon.  It  will  be  sufficient,  therefore,  only  to  observe,  that  all 
these  appearances  arise  from  the  density  of  the  cloud,  together  with 
Hs  uncommon  and  peculiar  situation,  with  respect  to  the  spectator 
and  the  sun.  It  may  be  observed,  that  but  one  of  these  three 
rainbows  was  real,  the  rest  being  only  reflections  thereof.  It 
ma>  also  be  observed,  that  whenever  the  spectator  stands  between 


154  A  HISTORY  OF 

;he  suu  and  a  cloud  of  falling  rain,  a  rainbow  is  sef.n.  wnicl»  i,  r  jthing 
more  than  the  reflection  of  the  different  coloured  rays  ot  »»sht  from 
the  bosom  of  the  cloud.  If,  for  instance,  we  take  a  g]  A*  globe, 
filled  with  water,  and  hang  it  up  before  us  opposite  the  s,m,  in 
many  situations  it  will  appear  transparent ;  but  if  it  is  raised  higher, 
or  sideways,  to  ah  angle  of  for  ty-five  degrees,  it  will  at  first  appear 
red  ;  altered  a  very  little  higher,  yellow  ;  then  green,  then  b'ue,  then 
violet  colour;  in  short,  it  will  assume  successively  all  the  colours  ot 
the  rainbow,  but,  if  raised  higher  still,  it  will  become  transparent 
again.  A  falling  shower  may  be  considered  as  an  infinite  number  of 
these  little  transparent  globes,  assuming  different  colours,  by  being 
placed  at  the  proper  heights.  The  rest  of  the  shower  will  appear 
transparent;  and  no  part  of  it  will  seem  coloured,  but  such  as  are  at 
angles  of  forty-five  degrees  from  the  eye,  forty-five  degrees  upward, 
forty-five  degrees  on  each  side,  and  forty-five  degrees  downward,  did 
not  the  plane  of  the  earth  prevent  us.  We  therefore  see  only  an  arch 
of  the  rainbow,  the  lower  part  being  cut  off  from  our  sight  by  the 
earth's  interposition.  However,  upon  the  tops  of  very  high  moun- 
tains, circular  rainbows  are  seen,  because  we  can  see  to  an  angle  of 
forty-five  degrees  downward,  as  well  as  upward,  or  sideways,  and 
therefore  we  take  in  the  rainbow's  complete  circle. 

In  those  forlorn  regions  round  the  poles,  the  meteors,  though  of 
another  kind,  are  not  less  numerous  and  alarming.  When  the  winter 
begins,  and  the  cold  prepares  to  set  in,  the  same  misty  appearance 
which  is  produced  in  the  southern  climates  by  the  heat,  is  there  pro- 
duced by  the  contrary  extreme.*  The  sea  smokes  like  an  oven,  and 
a  fog  arises,  which  mariners  call  the  frost  smoke.  This  cutting  mist 
commonly  raises  blisters  on  several  parts  of  the  body ;  and,  as  soon 
as  it  is  wafted  to  some  colder  part  of  the  atmosphere,  it  freezes  to  lit 
tie  icy  particles,  which  are  driven  by  the  wind,  and  create  such  an  in 
tense  cold  on  land,  that  the  limbs  o*f  the  inhabitants  are  sometimes 
frozen,  and  drop  off. 

There,  also,  hallos,  or  luminous  circles  round  the  moon,  are  oftener 
seen  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  earth,  being  formed  by  the  frost 
smoke  ;  although  the  air  otherwise  seems  to  be  clear.  A  lunar  rain- 
bow also,  is  often  seen  there,  though  somewhat  different  from  that 
which  is  common  with  us ;  as  it  appears  of  a  pale  white,  striped  with 
gray.  In  these  countries  also,  the  aurora  borealis  streams  with  pe- 
culiar lustre,  and  variety  of  colours.  In  Greenland  it  generally  arises 
in  the  east,  and  darts  its  sportive  fires,  with  variegated  beauty,  over 
the  whole  horizon.  Its  appearance  is  almos*  constant  in  winter;  and, 
at  those  seasons  when  the  sun  departs,  to  return  no  more  for  half  a 
year,  this  meteor  kindly  rises  to  supply  its  beams,  and  affords  suffi- 
cient light  for  all  the  purposes  of  existence.  However,  in  the  very 
midst  of  their  tedious  night,  the  inhabitants  are  not  entirely  forsaken. 
The  tops  of  the  mountains  are  often  seen  painted  with  the  red  ravs  of 
the  sun  ;  and  the  poor  Greenlander  from  thence  begins  TO  <iafe  his 
chronology.  It  would  appear  whimsical  to  read  a  Greenland  calen- 
dar, in  which  we  might  be  told,  that  one  of  their  chiefs,  having  lived 

»  Paul  Edgar's  History  of  Greenland. 


THE  EARTH.  155 

.orty  (fays,  died,  at  last,  of  a  good  old  age  ;  and  that  his  widow  con 
tinued  for  half  a  day  to  deplore  his  loss,  with  great  fidelity,  befon> 
she  admitted  a  second  hushand. 

The  meteors  of  the  day,  in  these  countries,  are  not  less  exii-aordi- 
nary  than  those  of  the  night:  mock  suns  are  often  reflected  upon  an 
opposite  cloud  ;  and  the  ignorant  spectator  fancies  that  there  are  ofteir 
three  or  four  real  suns  in  the  firmament  at  the  same  time.  In  this  splen- 
did appearance  the  real  sun  is  always  readily  known  by  its  superior 
brightness,  every  reflection  being  seen  with  diminished  splendour. 
The  solar  rainbow  there,  is  often  seen  different  from  ours.  Instead 
of  a  pleasing  variety  of  colours,  it  appears  of  a  pale  white,  edged 
with  a  stripe  of  dusky  yellow  ;  the  whole  being  reflected  from  the 
bosom  of  a  frozen  cloud. 

But,  of  all  the  meteors  which  mock  the  imagination  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  reality,  those  strange  illusions  that  are  seen  there,  in 
fine  serene  weather,  are  the  most  extraordinary  and  entertaining. 
"  Nothing,"  says  Krantz,  "  ever  surprised  me  more,  than  on  a  fine 
warm  summer's  day,  to  perceive  the  islands  that  lie  four  leagues  west 
of  our  shore,  putting  on  a  form  quite  different  from  what  they  are 
known  to  have.  As  I  stood  gazing  upon  them,  they  appeared  at  first 
infinitely  greater  than  what  they  naturally  are  ;  and  seemed  as  if  I 
viewed  them  through  a  large  magnifying  glass.  They  were  not  thus 
only  made  larger,  but  brought  nearer  to  me.  I  plainly  descried  every 
stone  upon  the  land,  and  all  the  furrows  filled  with  ice,  as  if  I  stood 
close  by.  When  this  illusion  had  lasted  for  a  while,  the  prospect 
seemed  to  break  up,  and  a  new  scene  of  wonder  to  present  itself. 
The  islands  seemed  to  travel  to  the  shore,  and  represented  a  wood, 
or  a  tall  cut  hedge.  The  scene  then  shifted,  and  showed  the  ap- 
pearance of  all  sorts  of  curious  figures  ;  as  ships  with  sails,  streamers, 
and  flags;  antique  elevated  castles,  with  decayed  turrets;  and  a 
thousand  forms,  for  which  fancy  found  a  resemblance  in  nature. — 
When  the  eye  had  been  satisfied  with  gazing,  the  whole  group  of 
riches  seemed  to  rise  in  air,  and  at  length  vanish  into  nothing.  At 
such  times  the  weather  is  quite  serene  and  clear  ;  but  compressed 
with  subtle  vapours,  as  it  is  in  very  hot  weather  ;  and  these  appear- 
ing between  the  eye  and  the  object,  give  it  all  that  variety  of  appear- 
ances which  glasses  of  different  refrangibilities  would  have  done."  Mr. 
Krantz  observes,  that  commonly  a  couple  of  hours  afterwards,  a 
gentle  west  wind  and  a  visible  mist  follows,  which  puts  an  end  to  this 
lusus  naturae. 

It  were  easy  to  swell  this  catalogue  of  meteors  with  the  names  of 
jnany  others,  both  in  our  own  climate  and  in  other  parts  of  the  world. 
Such  as  falling  stars,  which  are  thought  to  be  no  more  than  unctuous 
vapours,  raised  from  the  earth  to  small  heights,  and  contini-  ng 
fo  shine  till  that  matter  which  first  raised,  and  supported  them,  b«--  ng 
burnt  out,  they  fall  back  again  to  the  earth,  with  extinguished  flune. 
Burning  spears,  which  are  a  peculiar  kind  of  aurora  borealis  ;  bloody 
rains,  which  are  said  to  be  the  excrements  of  an  insect,  that  at  ifiat 
v.me  has  been  raised  into  the  air.  Showers  of  stones,  fishes,  and  ivy- 
berries,  at  first, no  doubt,  raised  into  the  air  by  tempests  ia  one  countr}, 
and  falling  at  some  considerable  distance  in  the  manner  of  rain,  to  as. 


156  A  HISTORY  OF 

tonisn  aiiother.  But  omitting  these,  of  which  we  know  little  mrr?;  than 
what  is  thus  briefly  mentioned,  I  will  conclude  this  chapter  with  the 
description  of  a  water-spout;  a  most  surprising  phenomenon,  not 
less  dreadful  to  mariners  than  astonishing  to  the  observer  of  nature. 

These  spouts  are  seen  very  commonly  in  the  tropical  seas,  and 
sometimes  in  our  own.  Those  seen  by  Tournefort,  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean, he  has  described  as  follows:  "  The  first  of  these,"  says  this 
great  botanist,  "  that  we  saw,  was  about  a  musket-shot  from  our 
ship.  There  we  perceived  the  water  began  to  boil,  and  to  rise  about 
a  foot  above  its  level.  The  water  was  agitated  and  whitish ;  and 
above  its  surface  there  seemed  to  stand  a  smoke,  such  as  might  be 
imagined  to  come  from  wet  straw  before  it  begins  to  blaze.  It  made  a 
sort  of  a  murmuring  sound,  like  that  of  a  torrent  heard  at  a  distance, 
mixed,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  hissing  noise  like  that  of  a  serpent 
shortly  after,  we  perceived  a  column  of  this  smoke  rise  up  to  the 
clouds,  at  the  same  time  whirling  about  with  great  rapidity.  It  ap- 
peared to  be  as  thick  as  one's  finger  ;  and  the  former  sound  still  con- 
tinued. When  this  disappeared,  after  lasting  for  about  eight  minutes, 
upon  turning  to  the  opposite  quarter  of  the  sky,  we  perceived  another, 
which  began  in  the  manner  of  the  former  ;  presently  after  a  third 
appeared  in  the  west ;  and  instantly  beside  it,  sti'1  another  arose. 
The  most  distant  of  these  three  could  not  be  above  a  musket-shot 
from  the  ship.  They  all  continued  like  so  many  heaps  of  wet  straw 
set  on  fire,  that  continued  to  smoke,  and  to  make  the  same  noise  as 
before.  We  soon  after  perceived  each,  with  its  respective  canal, 
mounting  up  in  the  clouds,  and  spreading  where  it  touched ;  the 
cloud,  like  the  mouth  of  a  trumpet,  making  a  figure,  to  express  it 
intelligibly,  as  if  the  tail  of  an  animal  were  pulled  at  one  end 
by  a  weight.  These  canals  were  of  a  whitish  colour,  and  so 
tinged,  as  I  suppose,  by  the  water  which  was  contained  in  them  ; 
for  previous  to  this,  the}'  were  apparently  empty,  and  of  the 
colour  of  transparent  glass.  These  canals  were  not  straight,  but 
bent  in  some  parts,  and  far  from  being  perpendicular,  but  rising  in 
their  clouds  with  a  very  inclined  ascent.  But  what  is  very  particular, 
the  cloud  to  which  one  of  them  was  pointed,  happening  to  be  driven 
by  the  wind,  the  spout  still  continued  to  follow  its  motion,  without 
being  broken  ;  and  passing  behind  one  of  the  others,  the  spouts 
crossed  each  other,  in  the  form  of  a  St.  Andrew's  Cross.  In  the  be- 
ginning they  were  all  about  as  thick  as  one's  finger,  except  at  the  top, 
where  they  were  broader,  and  two  of  them  disappeared  ;  but  shortly 
after,  the  last  of  the  three  increased  considerably ;  and  its  canal, 
which  was  at  first  so  small,  soon  became  as  thick  as  a  man's  arm,  then 
as  his  leg,  and  at  last  thicker  than  his  whole  body.  We  saw  distinct- 
ly, through  this  transparent  body,  the  water,  which  rose  up  with  a 
kind  of  spiral  motion ;  and  it  sometimes  diminished  a  little  of  its 
thickness,  and  again  resumed  the  same;  sometimes  widening  at  top,  and 
•ometimes  at  bottom ;  exactly  resembling  a  gut  filled  with  water,  press- 
ed with  the  fingers  to  make  the  fluid  rise,  or  fall ;  and  I  am  well  con- 
vinced, that  this  alteration  in  the  spout  was  caused  by  the  wind,  which 
pressed  the  cloud,  and  impelled  it  to  give  up  its  contents.  After  somn 
time,  its  bulk  was  so  diminished  as  to  be  no  thicker  than  a  'nar  s  arm 


THE  EARTH  157 

again :  and  thus  swelling,  and  diminishing,  it  at  last  became  ver  j 
small.  In  the  end,  I  observed  the  sea  which  was  raised  about  it,  to 
resume  its  level  by  degrees,  and  the  end  of  the  canal  that  touched  U 
to  become  as  small  as  if  it  had  been  tied  round  with  a  cord ;  and  this 
continued  till  the  light,  striking  through  the  cloud,  took  away  the 
view.  I  still,  however,  continued  to  look,  expecting  that  its  part? 
would  join  again,  as  I  had  before  seen  in  one  of  the  others,  in  which 
.he  spout  was  more  than  once  broken,  and  yet  again  came  together ; 
but  I  was  disappointed,  for  the  spout  appeared  no  more." 

Many  have  been  the  solutions  offered  for  this  surprising  appearance 
Mr.  Buffon  supposes  the  spout  here  described,  to  proceed  from  the 
operation  of  fire,  beneath  the  bed  of  the  sea;  as  the  waters  at  the 
surface  are  thus  seen  agitated.  However,  the  solution  of  Dr.  Stuart 
is  not  divested  of  probability  ;  who  thinks  it  may  be  accounted  for  by 
suction,  as  in  the  application  of  a  cupping-glass  to  the  skin. 

Wherever  spouts  of  this  kind  are  seen,  they  are  extremely  dreaded 
by  mariners ;  for  if  they  happen  to  fall  upon  a  ship,  they  most  com- 
monly dash  it  to  the  bottom.  But,  if  the  ship  be  large  enough  to  sus- 
tain the  deluge,  they  are  at  least  sure  to  destroy  its  sails  and  rigging, 
and  render  it  unfit  for  sailing.  It  is  said  that  vessels  of  any  force 
usually  fire  their  guns  at  them,  loaden  with  a  bar  of  iron  ;  and  if  so 
happy  as  to  strike  them,  the  water  is  instantly  seen  to  fall  from  them, 
with  a  dreadful  noise,  though  without  any  farther  mischief. 

I  am  at  a  loss  whether  we  ought  to  reckon  these  spouts  called  ty- 
phons,  which  are  sometimes  seen  at  land,  of  the  same  kind  with  those 
so  often  described  by  mariners  at  sea,  as  they  seem  to  differ  in  several 
respects.  That,  for  instance,  observed  at  Hatfield,  in  Yorkshire,  in 
l687j  as  it  is  described  by  the  person  who  saw  it,  seems  rather  to 
have  been  a  whirlwind  than  a  water-spout.  The  season  in  which  it 
appeared  was  very  dry,  the  weather  extremely  hot,  and  the  air  very 
cloudy.  After  the  wind  had  blown  for  some  time,  with  considerable 
force,  and  condensed  the  black  clouds  one  upon  another,  a  great  whirl- 
ing of  the  air  ensued ;  upon  which  the  centre  of  the  clouds,  every 
now  and  then  darted  down,  in  the  shape  of  a  thick  long  black  pipe;  in 
which  the  relator  could  distinctly  view  a  motion,  like  that  of  a  screw, 
continually  screwing  up  to  itself,  as  it  were,  whatever  it  happened  to 
touch.  In  its  progress  it  moved  slowly  over  a  grove  of  young  trees, 
which  it  violently  bent,  in  a  circular  motion.  Going  forward  to  a  barn, 
it  in  a  minute  stript  it  of  all  the  thatch,  and  filled  the  whole  air  with 
the  same.  As  it  came  near  the  relator,  he  perceived  that  its  blackness 
proceeded  from  a  gyration  of  the  clouds,  by  contrary  winds,  meeting 
in  a  point,  or  a  centre  ;  and  where  the  greatest  force  was  exerted, 
there  darting  down,  like  an  Archimedes'  screw,  to  suck  up  all  that 
came  in  its  way.  Another  which  he  saw,  some  time  after,  was  at- 
tended with  still  more  terrible  effects ;  levelling  or  tearing  up  great 
oak-trees,  catching  up  the  birds  in  its  vortex,  and  dashing  them  against 
the  ground.  In  this  manner  it  proceeded,  with  an  audible  whirling 
noise,  like  that  of  a  mill;  and  at  length  dissolved,  after  having  done 
much  mischief. 

But  we  must  still  continue  to  suspend  our  assent  as  to  the  nature 
even  of  these  land  spouts,  since  they  have  been  sometimes  foui**J  to 


158  A  HISTORY  OF 

drop,  in  a  great  column  of  water,  at  once  upon  the  earth,  and  pro- 
duce an  instant  inundation,*  which  could  not  readily  have  happened 
nad  they  been  caused  by  the  gyration  of  a  whirlwind  only.  Indeed, 
every  conjecture,  regarding  these  meteors,  seems  to  me  entirely  unsa- 
tisfactory. They  sometimes  appear  in  the  calmest  weather  at  sea,  of 
which  I  have  been  an  eyewitness  ;  and,  therefore,  these  are  not  caused 
by  a  whirlwind.  They  are  always  capped  by  a  cloud  ;  and,  therefore, 
are  not  likely  to  proceed  from  fires  at  the  bottom.  They  change 
place ;  and  therefore  suction  seems  impracticable.  In  short,  we  still 
want  facts,  upon  which  to  build  a  rational  theory ;  and,  instead  of 
knowledge,  we  must  be  contented  with  admiration.  To  be  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  appearances  of  nature,  even  though  we  are  ignorant 
of  their  causes,  often  constitutes  the  most  useful  wisdom. 

But  among  all  the  wonders  that  have  lately  engaged  the  attention 
of  the  philosopher  and  the  chymist,  is  the  circumstance,  that  after  the 
explosion  of  certain  luminous  meteors,  heavy  stones,  varying  in  bulk 
and  number,  have  almost  constantly  fallen  from  them  to  the  earth. 
Credibility  in  a  fact,  for  which  not  even  a  conjectural  cause  in  the 
remotest  degree  probable  could  be  assigned,  was  for  some  time  sus- 
pended ;  but  the  proofs  are  now  so  numerous,  and  of  such  respectable 
authority,  that  it  can  no  longer  be  doubted. 

In  July,  1794,  about  twelve  stones  fell  near  Sienna  in  Tuscany,  as 
related  by  the  Earl  of  Bristol.  December  13,  1795,  a  large  stone  of 
fifty-six  pounds  weight,  fell  at  Wold  cottage  in  Yorkshire,  and  is  de- 
scribed by  Captain  Topham.  February  19,  1796,  a  stone  of  ten 
pounds  weight  fell  in  Portugal,  an  account  of  which  is  given  by  Mr. 
Southey.  December  19,  1798,  showers  of  stones  fell  at  Benares  in 
the  East  Indies,  upon  the  testimony  of  J.  Lloyd  Williams,  Esq.  April 
26,  1803,  according  to  M.  Fourcroy,  several  stones,  from  ten  to  four- 
teen pounds  weight,  fell  near  L'Aigle  in  Normandy. 

Various  conjectures  have  been  made,  to  account  for  their  appear- 
ance; but  such  is  the  obscurity  of  the  subject,  that  no  opinion  in  the 
slightest  degree  probable  has  yet  been  advanced.  It  was  at  first  sup- 
posed, that  they  had  been  thrown  out  of  volcanoes,  but  the  immense 
distance  from  all  volcanoes  renders  this  opinion  of  little  value. 
Chaldni  endeavoured  to  prove,  that  the  meteors  from  which  they  fell, 
were  bodies  floating  in  space,  unconnected  with  any  planetary  system, 
attracted  by  the  earth  in  their  progress,  and  kindled  by  their  motion 
in  the  atmosphere.  Laplace  suggests  the  probability  of  their  having 
been  thrown  off  by  the  volcanoes  of  the  moon ;  but  the  meteors  which 
almost  always  accompany  them,  and  the  swiftness  of  their  horizontal 
motion,  persuade  us  to  reject  this  opinion.  Sir  William  Hamilton, 
and  Mr.  King,  with  greater  probability,  consider  them  as  concretions 
actually  formed  in  the  atmosphere.  After  all,  we  must  be  content  to 
leave  this  phenomenon  (as  also  the  showers  of  sulphur  and  the  vast 
masses  of  iron  said  to  have  fallen  in  South  America  and  Siberia,  and 
supposed  to  have  their  origin  from  the  same  causes)  to  the  ace  ttmu 
<ated  wisdom  of  future  ages. 

•  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  iv.  p.  2, 108. 


THE  EARTH  159 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE    CONCLUSION. 

HAVING  thus  gone  through  a  particular  description  of  the  earth,  lei 
js  now  pause  for  a  moment,  to  contemplate  the  great  picture  before 
js.  The  universe  may  be  considered  as  the  palace  in  which  the  Deity 
resides;  and  this  earth  as  one  of  its  apartments.  In  this,  all  the 
meaner  races  of  animated  nature  mechanically  obey  him  ;  and  stand 
ready  to  execute  his  commands  without  hesitation.  Man  alone  is 
found  refractory ;  he  is  the  only  being  endued  with  a  power  of  con- 
tradicting these  mandates.  The  Deity  was  pleased  to  exert  superior 
power  in  creating  him  a  superior  being;  a  being  endued  with  a  choice 
of  good  and  evil ;  and  capable,  in  some  measure,  of  co-operating  with 
his  own  intentions.  Man,  therefore,  rriay  be  considered  as  a-  limited 
creature,  endued  with  powers  imitative  of  those  residing  in  the  Deity. 
He  is  thrown  into  a  world  that  stands  in  need  of  his  help ;  and  has 
been  granted  a  power  of  producing  harmony  from  partial  confusion. 

If,  therefore,  we  consider  the  earth  as  allotted  for  our  habitation, 
we  shall  find,  that  much  has  been  given  us  to  enjoy,  and  much  to 
amend ;  that  we  have  ample  reasons  for  our  gratitude,  and  still  more 
for  our  industry.  In  those  great  outlines  of  nature,  to  which  art  can- 
not reach,  and  where  our  greatest  efforts  must  have  been  ineffectual, 
God  himself  has  finished  these  with  amazing  grandeur  and  beauty. 
Our  beneficent  Father  has  considered  these  parts  of  nature  as  peculi- 
arly his  own ;  as  parts  which  no  creature  could  have  skill  or  strength 
to  amend  ;  and  therefore  made  them  incapable  of  alteration,  or  of 
more  perfect  regularity.  The  heavens  and  the  firmament  show  the 
wisdom  and  the  glory  of  the  Workman.  Astronomers,  who  are  best 
skilled  in  the  symmetry  of  systems,  can  find  nothing  there  that  they 
can  alter  for  the  better.  God  made  these  perfect,  because  no  subor- 
dinate being  could  correct  their  defects. 

When,  therefore,  we  survey  nature  on  this  side,  nothing  can  be 
more  splendid,  more  correct,  or  amazing.  We  there  behold  a  Deity 
residing  in  the  midst  of  a  universe,  infinitely  extended  every  way, 
animating  all,  and  cheering  the  vacuity  with  his  presence !  We  be- 
hold an  immense  and  shapeless  mass  of  matter,  formed  into  worlds 
by  his  power,  and  dispersed  at  intervals,  to  which  even  the  imagina- 
tion cannot  travel !  In  this  great  theatre  of  his  glory,  a  thousand 
suns,  like  our  own,  animate  their  respective  systems,  appearing  and 
vanishing  at  Divine  command.  We  behold  our  own  bright  luminary 
fixed  in  the  centre  of  its  system,  wheeling  its  planets  in  times  propor- 
tioned to  their  distances,  and  at  once  dispensing  light,  heat,  and  action. 
The  earth  also  is  seen  with  its  twofold  motion  ;  producing,  by  the  one, 
the  change  of  seasons  ;  and  by  the  other,  the  grateful  vicissitudes  of 
day  and  night.  With  what  silent  .magnificence  is  all  this  performed  ! 
with  what  seeming  ease  !  The  works  of  art  are  exerted  with  intei- 
rupted  force  ;  and  their  noisy  progress  discovers  the  obstructions  they 
receive  :  but  the  earth,  with  a  silent  steady  rotation,  successively  pre- 
sents every  part  of  its  bjsom  to  the  sun;  at  once  imbibing  nourisli 
uient  and  ligh'  from  that  parent  of  vegetation  and  fertility. 


1 60  A  HISTORY  OF 

But  not  only  provisions  of  heat  and  light  are  thus  supplied,  but  its 
tvholn  surface  is  covered  with  a  transparent  atmosphere,  that  turns 
with  its  motion,  and  guards  it  from  external  injury.  The  rays  of  the 
sun  are  thus  broken  into  a  genial  warmth;  and,  while  the  surface  \s 
assisted,  a  gentle  heat  is  produced  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  which 
contributes  to  cover  it  with  verdure.  Waters  also  are  supplied  in 
healthful  abundance,  to  support  life,  and  assist  vegetation.  Mountains 
arise,  to  diversify  the  prospect,  and  give  a  current  to  the  stream.  Seas 
extend  from  one  continent  to  the  other,  replenished  with  animals,  that, 
may  be  turned  to  human  support;  and  also  serving  to  enrich  the  earth 
with  a  sufficiency  of  vapour.  Breezes  fly  along  the  surface  of  the 
fields,  to  promote  health  and  vegetation.  The  coolness  of  the  even- 
ing invites  to  rest,  and  the  freshness  of  the  morning  renews  for  labour. 

Such  are  the  delights  of  the  habitation  that  has  been  assigned  to 
man  !  Without  any  one  of  these,  he  must  have  been  wretched ;  and 
none  of  these  could  his  own  industry  have  supplied.  But  while  many 
of  his  wants  are  thus  kindly  furnished  on  the  one  hand,  there  are 
numberless  inconveniences  to  excite  his  industry  on  the  other.  This 
habitation,  though  provided  with  all  the  conveniences  of  air,  pasturage, 
and  water,  is  but  a  desert  place,  without  human  cultivation.  The 
lowest  animal  finds  more  conveniences  in  the  wilds  of  nature,  than 
he  who  boasts  himself  their  lord.  The  whirlwind,  the  inundation, 
and  all  the  asperities  of  the  air,  are  peculiarly  terrible  to  man,  who 
knows  their  consequences,  and,  at  a  distance,  dreads  their  approach. 
The  earth  itself,  where  human  art  has  not  pervaded,  puts  on  a  fright 
ful  gloomy  appearance.  The  forests  are  dark  and  tangled  ;  the  mea- 
dows overgrown  with  rank  weeds ;  and  the  brooks  Stray  without  a 
determined  channel.  Nature,  that  has  been  kind  to  every  lower  or- 
der of  beings,  has  been  quite  neglectful  with  regard  to  him ;  to  the 
savage  uncontriving  man  the  earth  is  an  abode  of  desolation,  where 
his  shelter  is  insufficient,  and  his  food  precarious. 

A  world  thus  furnished  with  advantages  on  one  side,  and  inconve- 
niences on  the  other,  is  the  proper  abode  of  reason ;  is  the  fittest  to 
exercise  the  industry  of  a  free  and  a  thinking  creature.  These  evils, 
which  art  can  remedy,  and  prescience  guard  against,  are  a  proper  call 
for  the  exertion  of  his  faculties ;  and  they  tend  still  more  to  assimi- 
late him  to  his  Creator.  God  beholds,  with  pleasure,  that  being  which 
he  has  made,  converting  the  wretchedness  of  his  natural  situation  into 
a  theatre  of  triumph ;  bringing  all  the  headlong  tribes  of  nature  into 
subjection  to  his  will ;  and  producing  that  order  and  uniformity  upon 
uarth,  of  which  hi*  own  heavenly  fabric  is  so  bright  an  example. 


161 

PART  II. 
OF  ANIMALS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A  COMPARISON  OP  ANIMALS  WITH  THE  INFERIOR  RANKS  OP 
CREATION. 


HAVING  given  an  account  of  the  earth  in  general,  and  the  advan 
tages  and  inconveniences  with  which  it  abounds,  we  now  come  to  con 
sider  it  more  minutely.  Having  described  the  habitation,  we  are  na- 
turally led  to  inquire  after  the  inhabitants.  Amidst  the  infinitely 
different  productions  which  the  earth  offers,  and  with  which  it  is  every 
where  covered,  animals  hold  the  first  rank  ;  as  well  because  of  the 
finer  formation  of  their  parts,  as  of  their  superior  power.  The  vege- 
table, which  is  fixed  to  one  spot,  and  obliged  to  wait  for  its  accidental 
supplies  of  nourishment,  may  be  considered  as  the  prisoner  of  nature. 
Unable  to  correct  the  disadvantages  of  its  situation,  or  to  shield  itself 
from  the  dangers  that  surround  it,  every  object  that  has  motion,  may 
be  its  destroyer. 

But  animals  are  endowed  with  powers  of  motion  and  defence.  The 
greatest  part  are  capable,  by  changing  place,  of  commanding  nature ; 
and  of  thus  obliging  her  to  furnish  that  nourishment  which  is  most 
agreeable  to  their  state.  Those  few  that  are  fixed  on  one  spot,  even  in 
this  seemingly  helpless  situation,  are,  nevertheless,  protected  from  ex- 
ternal injury  by  a  hard  shelly  covering,  which  they  often  can  close 
at  pleasure,  and  thus  defend  themselves  from  every  assault.  And 
here,  I  think,  we  may  draw  the  line  between  the  animal  and  vegeta- 
ble kingdoms.  Every  animal,  by  some  means  or  other,  finds  protec- 
tion from  injury ;  either  from  its  force,  or  courage,  its  swiftness,  or 
cunning.  Some  are  protected  by  hiding  in  convenient  places,  and 
others  by  taking  refuge  in  a  hard  resisting  shell.  But  vegetables  are 
totally  unprotected  ;  they  are  exposed  to  every  assailant,  and  patiently 
submissive  in  every  attack.  In  a  word,  an  animal  is  an  organized  be- 
ing that  is  in  some  measure  provided  for  its  own  security  ;  a  vegetable 
is  destitute  of  every  protection. 

But  though  it  is  very  easy,  without  the  help  of  definitions,  to  dis- 
tinguish a  plant  from  an  animal,  yet  both  possess  many  properties  so 
much  alike,  that  the  two  kingdoms,  as  they  are  called,  seem  mixed  with 
each  other.  Hence,  it  frequently  puzzles  the  naturalist  to  tell  exactly 
where  animal  life  begins,  and  vegetative  terminates ;  nor  indeed,  is  ii 
easy  to  resolve,  whether  some  objects  offered  to  view,  be  of  the  low 
VOL  I-  L 


1 62  A  HISTORY  OF 

pst  of  the  animal,  or  the  highest  of  the  vegetable  race.  The  sensitive 
plant,  that  moves  at  the  touch,  seems  to  have  as  much  perception  as 
the  fresh-water  polypus,  that  is  possessed  of  a  still  slower  share  of 
motion.  Besides,  the  sensitive  plant  will  not  reproduce,  upon  cutting 
in  pieces,  which  the  polypus  is  known  to  do ;  so  that  the  vegetable 
production  seems  to  have  the  superiority.  But,  notwithstanding  this, 
the  polypus  hunts  for  its  food,  as  most  other  animals  do.  It  changes 
its  situation,  and  therefore  possesses  a  power  of  choosing  its  food,  or 
retreating  from  danger.  Still,  therefore,  the  animal  kingdom  is  far 
removed  above  the  vegetable  ;  and  its  lowest  denizen  is  possessed  oi 
very  great  privileges,  when  compared  with  the  plants  with  which  it  is 
often  surrounded. 

However,  both  classes  have  many  resemblances,  by  which  they  are 
raised  above  the  unorganized  and  inert  masses  of  nature.  Minerals 
are  mere  inactive,  insensible  bodies,  entirely  motionless  of  themselves, 
and  waiting  some  external  force  to  alter  their  forms,  or  their  proper- 
ties. But  it  is  otherwise  with  animals  and  vegetables ;  these  are  en- 
dued with  life  and  vigour ;  they  have  their  state  of  improvement  and 
decay  ;  they  are  capable  of  reproducing  their  kinds  ;  they  grow  from 
seeds  in  some,  and  from  cuttings  in  others ;  they  seem  all  possessed 
of  sensation,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree ;  they  both  have  their  enmi- 
ties and  affections ;  and  as  some  animals  are,  by  nature,  impelled  to 
violence,  so  some  plants  are  found  to  exterminate  all  others,  and  make 
a  wilderness  of  the  places  round  them.  As  the  lion  makes  a  desert 
of  the  forest  where  it  resides,  thus  no  other  plant  will  grow  under  the 
shade  of  the  manchinel-tree.  Thus,  also,  that  plant  in  the  West-In- 
dies, called  caraguata,  clings  round  whatever  tree  it  happens  to  ap- 
proach :  there  it  quickly  gains  the  ascendant ;  and  loading  the  tree 
with  a  verdure  not  its  own,  keeps  away  that  nourishment  designed  to 
feed  the  trunk  ;  and  at  last  entirely  destroys  its  supporter.  As  all 
animals  are  ultimately  supported  upon  vegetables,  so  vegetables  are 
greatly  propagated,  by  being  made  a  part  of  animal  food.  Birds  dis- 
tribute the  seeds  wherever  they  fly,  and  quadrupeds  prune  them  into 
greater  luxuriance.  By  these  means  the  quantity  of  fopd,  in  a  state  of 
nature,  is  kept  equal  to  the  number  of  the  consumers  ;  and,  lest  some 
of  the  weaker  ranks  of  animals  should  find  nothing  for  their  support, 
but  ah  the  provisions  be  devoured  by  the  strong,  different  vegetables 
are  appropriated  to  different  appetites.  If,  transgressing  this  rule,  the 
stronger  ranks  should  invade  the  rights  of  the  weak,  and,  breaking 
through  all  regard  to  appetite,  should  make  an  indiscriminate  use  of 
every  vegetable,  nature  then  punishes  the  transgression,  and  poison 
marks  the  crime  as  capital. 

If,  again,  we  compare  vegetables  and  animals,  with  respect  to  the 
places  whore  they  are  found,  we  shall  find  them  bearing  a  still  stronger 
similitude.  The  vegetables  that  grow  in  a  dry  and  sunny  soil,  are 
strong  and  vigorous,  though  not  luxuriant ;  so  also  are  the  animals  of 
such  a  climate.  Those,  on  the  contrary,  that  are  the  joint  product  of 
heat  and  moisture  are  luxuriant  and  tender ;  and  the  animals  assimi- 
lating to  the  vegetable  food,  on  which  they  ultimately  subsist,  are 
much  larger  in  such  places  than  in  others.  Thus,  in  the  internal  parts 
of  South  America,  and  Africa,  where  the  sun  ussally  scorches  nil 


ANIMALS  J63 

aluove,  while  inundations  cover  all  below,  the  insects,  reptiles,  ao^ 
other  animals,  grow  to  a  prodigious  size  :  the  earth-worm  of  America 
is  often  a  yard  in  length,  and  as  thick  as  a  walking  cane  ;  the  boiguacu, 
which  is  the  largest  of  the  serpent  kind,  is  sometimes  forty  feet  in 
length  ;  the  bats,  in  those  countries,  are  as  big  as  a  rabbit ;  the  toads 
are  bigger  than  a  duck  ;  and  their  spiders  are  as  large  as  a  sparrow. 
On  the  contrary,  in  the  cold  frozen  regions  of  the  north,  where  vege- 
table nature  is  stinted  of  its  growth,  the  few  animals  in  those  climates 
partake  of  the  diminution ;  all  the  wild  animals,  except  the  bear,  are 
much  smaller  than  in  milder  countries  ;  and  such  of  the  domestic 
kinds  as  are  carried  thither,  quickly  degenerate,  and  grow  less.  Their 
very  insects  are  of  the  minute  kinds,  their  bees  and  spiders  being  not 
half  so  large  as  those  in  the  temperate  zone. 

The  similitude  between  vegetables  and  animals  is  no  where  more 
obvious  than  in  those  that  belong  to  the  ocean,  where  the  nature  of 
one  is  admirably  adapted  to  the  necessities  of  the  other.  This  ele- 
ment, it  is  well  known,  has  its  vegetables,  and  its  .insects  that  feed 
upon  them,  in  great  abundance.  Over  many  tracts  of  the  sea,  a  weed 
is  seen  floating,  which  covers  the  surface,  and  gives  the  resemblance 
of  a  green  and  extensive  meadow.  On  the  under  side  of  these  un- 
stable plants,  millions  of  little  animals  are  found,  adapted  to  their 
situation.  For  as  their  ground,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  lies  over  their 
heads,  their  feet  are  placed  upon  their  backs  ;  and  as  land  animals 
have  their  legs  below  their  bodies,  these  have  them  above.  At 
land  also,  most  animals  are  furnished  with  eyes  to  see  their  food ; 
but  at  sea,  almost  all  the  reptile  kinds  are  without  eyes,  which  might 
only  give  them  prospects  of  danger  at  a  time  when  unprovided  with 
the  means  of  escaping  it.* 

Thus,  in  all  places,  we  perceive  an  obvious  similitude  between  the 
animals  and  the  vegetables  of  every  region.  In  general,  however, 
(he  most  perfect  races  have  the  least  similitude  to  the  vegetable  pro- 
ductions on  which  they  are  ultimately  fed  ;  while,  on  the  contrary, 
the  meaner  the  animal,  the  more  local  it  is  found  to  be,  and  the  more 
it  is  influenced  by  the  varieties  of  the  soil  where  it  resides.  Many  of 
the  more  humble  reptile  kinds  are  not  only  confined  to  one  country, 
but  also  to  a  plant ;  nay,  even  to  a  leaf.  Upon  that  they  subsist ;  in- 
crease with  its  vegetation,  and  seem  to  decay  as  it  declines.  They 
are  merely  the  circumscribed  inhabitants  of  a  single  vegetable  ;  take 
them  from  that,  and  they  instantly  die  ;  being  entirely  assimilated  to 
the  plant  they  feed  on,  assuming  its  colour,  and  even  its  medicinal 
properties.  For  this  reason  there  are  infinite  numbers  of  the  meaner 
animals  that  we  have  never  an  opportunity  of  seeing  in  this  part  of 
the  world  ;  they  are  incapable  of  living  separate  from  their  kindred 
vegetables,  which  grow  only  in  a  certain  climate. 

Such  animals  as  are  formed  more  perfect,  lead  a  life  of  less  depen* 
donee  ;  and  some  kinds  are  found  to  subsist  in  many  parts  of  the 
world  at  the  same  time.  But  of  all  the  races  of  animated  nature,  man 
.s  the  least  affected  by  the  soil  where  he  resides,  and  least  influenced 
by  the  variations  of  vegetable  sustenance  :  equally  unaffected  by  the 

»  Linnsei  Ameniiatcs,  vol.  v.  p.  68. 


1 64  A  HISTORY  OF 

luxuiiancu  of  the  warm  climates,  or  the  sterility  of  the  poles,  ne  has 
spread  his  habitations  over  the  whole  earth  ;  and  finds  subsistence  as 
well  amidst  the  ice  of  the  north  as  the  burning  deserts  under  the  line. 
All  creatures  of  an  inferior  nature,  as  has  been  said,  have  peculiar 
propensities  to  peculiar  climates;  they  are  circumscribed  to  zones,  and 
confined  to  territories  where  their  proper  food  is  found  in  the  greatest 
abundance;  but  man  may  be  called  the  animal  of  every  climate,  and 
suffers  but  very  gradual  alterations  from  the  nature  of  any  situation. 

As  to  animals  of  a  meaner  rank,  whom  man  compels  to  attend  hin» 
in  his  migrations,  these  being  obliged  to  live  in  a  kind  of  constraint, 
and  upon  vegetable  food  often  different  from  that  of  their  native  soil, 
they  very  soon  alter  their  natures  with  the  nature  of  their  nourish- 
ment, assimilate  to  the  vegetables  upon  which  theyfced,and  thus  as- 
sume very  different  habits  as  well  as  appearances.  Thus  man,  unaf- 
fected himself,  alters  and  directs  the  nature  of  other  animals  at  his 
pleasure  ;  increases  their  strength  for  his  delight,  or  their  patience 
for  his  necessities. 

This  power  of  altering  the  appearances  of  things,  seems  to  have 
been  given  him  for  very  wise  purposes.  The  Deity,  when  he  made 
the  earth,  was  willing  to  give  his  favoured  creature  many  opponents, 
that  might  at  once  exercise  his  virtues,  and  call  forth  his  latent  abili- 
ties. Hence  we  find,  in  those  wide  uncultivated  wildernesses,  where 
man,  in  his  savage  state,  owns  inferior  strength,  and  the  beasts  claim 
divided  dominion,  that  the  whole  forest  swarms  with  noxious  animals 
and  vegetables ;  animals  as  yet  undescribed,  and  vegetables  which 
want  a  name.  In  those  recesses,  nature  seems  rather  lavish  than 
magnificent  in  bestowing  life.  The  trees  are  usually  of  the  largest 
kinds,  covered  round  with  parasite  plants,  and  interwoven  at  the  tops 
with  each  other.  The  bouglis,  both  above  and  below,  are  peopled ' 
with  various  generations  ;  some  of  which  have  never  been  upon  the 
ground,  and  others  have  never  stirred  from  the  branches  on  which 
they  were  produced.  In  this  manner  millions  of  minute  and  loath- 
some creatures  pursue  a  round  of  uninterrupted  existence,  and  enjoy 
a  life  scarcely  superior  to  vegetation.  At  the  same  time,  the  vegeta- 
bles in  those  places  are  of  the  larger  kinds,  while  the  animal  race 
is  of  the  smaller  :  but  man  has  altered  this  disposition  of  nature  ; 
having,  in  a  great  measure,  levelled  the  extensive  forests,  cul- 
tivated the  softer  and  finer  vegetables,  destroyed  the  numberless 
tribes  of  minute  and  noxious  animals,  and  taken  every  method  to  in- 
crease a  numerous  breed  of  the  Isfrger  kinds.  He  thus  has  exercised 
a  severe  control ;  unpeopled  nature,  to  embellish  it ;  and  diminished 
the  size  of  the  vegetable,  in  order  to  improve  that  of  the  animal 
kingdom. 

To  subdue  the  earth  to  his  own  use,  was,  and  ought  to  be,  the  aim 
of  man ;  which  was  only  to  be  done  by  increasing  the  number  of 
plants,  and  diminishing  that  of  animals  :  to  multiply  existence,  alone, 
was  that  of  the  Deity.  For  this  reason,  we  find,  in  a  state  of  nature, 
that  animal  life  is  increased  to  the  greatest  quantity  possible ;  and  we 
can  scarcely  form  a  system  that  could  add  to  its  numbers.  First, 
plants,  or  trees,  are  provided  by  nature  of  the  largest  kinds ;  and, 
conseouently,  the  nourishing  surface  is  thus  extended.  In  the  second 


ANIMALS.  165 

place,  there  are  animals  peculiar  to  every  part  of  the  vegetable,  so 
hat  no  part  of  it  is  lost.  But  the  greatest  possible  increase  of  life 
would  still  be  deficient,  were  there  not  other  animals  that  lived  upon 
animals ;  and  these  are  themselves,  in  turn,  food  for  some  other 
greater  and  stronger  set  of  creatures.  Were  all  animals  to  live  upon 
vegetables  alone,  thousands  would  be  extinct  that  now  have  existence, 
as  the  quantity  of  their  provision  would  shortly  fail.  But,  as  things 
are  wisely  constructed,  one  animal  now  supports  another ;  and  thus, 
all  take  up  less  room  than  they  would  by  living  on  the  same  food  ;  as, 
to  make  use  of  a  similar  instance,  a  greater  number  of  people  may  be 
crowded  into  the  same  space,  if  each  is  made  to  bear  his  fellow  upon 
his  shoulders. 

To  diminish  the  number  of  animals,  and  increase  that  of  vegeta- 
bles, has  been  the  general  scope  of  human  industry  ;  and,  if  we  com- 
pare the  utility  of  the  kinds,  with  respect  to  man,  we  shall  find,  that 
of  the  vast  variety  in  the  animal  kingdom,  but  very  few  are  service- 
able to  him  ;  and,  in  the  vegetable,  but  very  few  are  entirely  noxious. 
How  small  a  part  of  the  insect  tribes,  for  instance,  are  beneficial  to 
mankind,  and  what  numbers  are  injurious  !  In  some  countries  they 
almost  darken  the  air:  a  candle  cannot  be  lighted  without  their  in- 
stantly flying  upon  it,  and  putting  out  the  flame.*  The  closest  re- 
cesses are  no  safeguard  from  their  annoyance  ;  and  the  most  beautiful 
landscapes  of  nature  only  serve  to  invite  their  rapacity.  As  these  are 
injurious  from  their  multitudes,  so  most  of  the  larger  kinds  are  equally 
dreadful  to  him  from  their  courage  and  ferocity.  In  the  most  uncul- 
tivated parts  of  the  forest  these  maintain  an  undisputed  empire ;  and 
man  invades  their  retreats  with  terror.  These  are  dreadful ;  and  there 
are  still  more  which  are  utterly  useless  to  him,  that  serve  to  take  up 
the  room  which  more  beneficial  creatures  might  possess ;  and  incom- 
mode him  rather  with  their  numbers  than  their  enmities.  Thus,  in  a 
catalogue  of  land  animals,  that  amounts  to  more  than  twenty  thousand, 
we  can  scarcely  reckon  up  a  hundred  that  are  any  way  useful  to  him  ; 
the  rest  being  either  all  his  open  or  his  secret  enemies,  immediately 
attacking  him  in  person,  or  intruding  upon  that  food  he  has  appropri- 
ated to  himself.  Vegetables,  on  the  contrary,  though  existing  io 
greater  variety,  are  but  few  of  them  noxious.  The  most  deadly  poi- 
sons are  often  of  great  use  in  medicine  ;  and  even  those  plants  that  only 
seem  to  cumber  the  ground  serve  for  food  to  that  race  of  aninruils 
which  he  has  taken  into  friendship,  or  protection.  The  smaller  tribes 
of  vegetables,  in  particular,  are  cultivated,  as  contributing  either  to 
his  necessities  or  amusements ;  so  that  vegetable  life  is  as  much  pro- 
moted by  human  industry,  as  animal  life  is  controlled  and  diminished. 

Hence,  it  was  not  without  a  long  struggle,  and  various  combinations 
of  experience  and  art,  that  man  acquired  his  present  dominion.  Al- 
most every  good  that  he  possesses  was  the  result  of  the  contest;  for,, 
every  day,  as  he  was  contending,  he  was  growing  more  wise :  and  pa- 
xience  and  fortitude  were  the  fruits  of  his  industry. 

Hence,  also,  we  see  the  necessity  of  some  animals  living  upon  each 
f»ther}  to  fill  up  the  plan  of  Providence  ;  and  we  may,  consequently 

*  Ulloa's  Description  of  Guayaquil. 


I  (ft  A  HISTORY  OF 

in'ei  tho  expediency  of  man's  living  upon  all.  Beth  animals  and  vege- 
tables s«?em  equally  fitted  to  his  appetites ;  and,  were  any  religious  or 
moral  motives  to  restrain  him  from  taking  away  life,  upon  any  account, 
he  would  only  thus  give  existence  to  a  variety  of  beings  made  to 
prey  upon  each  other ;  and,  instead  of  preventing,  multiply  mutual 
destruction. 

CHAPTER   II. 

ON  THE  GENERATION  OF  ANIMALS 

BEFORE  we  survey  animals  in  their  state  of  maturity,  and  perform- 
ing the  functions  adapted  to  their  respective  natures,  method  re- 
quires that  we  should  consider  them  in  the  more  early  periods  of 
their  existence.  There  has  been  a  time  when  the  proudest  and  the 
noblest  animal  was  a  partaker  of  the  same  imbecility  with  the  meanest 
reptile;  and,  while  yet  a  candidate  for  existence,  equally  helpless  and 
contemptible.  In  their  incipient  state,  all  are  upon  a  footing  ;  the  in- 
sect and  the  philosopher  being  equally  insensible,  clogged  with  mat 
ter,  and  unconscious  of  existence.  Where,  then,  are  we  to  begin  with 
the  history  of  those  beings,  that  make  such  a  distinguished  figure  in  the 
creation?  Or,  where  lie  those  peculiar  characters  in  the  parts  that  go 
to  make  up  animated  nature — that  mark  one  animal  as  destined  to 
creep  in  the  dust,  and  another  to  glitter  on  the  throne. 

This  has  been  a  subject  that  has  employed  the  curiosity  of  all  ages, 
and  the  philosophers  of  every  age  have  attempted  the  solution.  In 
tracing  nature  to  her  most  hidden  recesses,  she  becomes  too  minute, 
or  obscure,  for  our  inspection  ;  so  that  we  find  it  impossible  to  mark 
her  first  differences,  to  discover  the  point  where  animal  life  begins,  or 
the  cause  that  conduces  to  set  it  in  motion.  We  know  little  more  than 
that  the  greatest  number  of  animals  require  the  concurrence  of  a  male 
and  female  to  reproduce  their  kind ;  and  that  these  distinctly  and  in- 
variable are  found  to  beget  creatures  of  their  own  species.  Curiosity 
has,  therefore,  been  active,  in  trying  to  discover  the  immediate  result 
of  this  union  ;  how  far  either  sex  contributes  to  the  bestowing  animal 
life,  and  whether  it  be  to  the  male  or  female  that  we  are  most  indebted 
for  the  privilege  of  our  existence. 

Hippocrates  has  supposed  that  fecundity  proceeded  from  the  mix- 
ture of  the  seminal  liquor  of  both  sexes,  each  of  which  equally  contri- 
butes to  the  formation  of  the  incipient  animal.  Aristotle,  on  the  other 
hand,  would  have  the  seminal  liquor  in  the  male  alone  to  contribute  to 
this  purpose,  while  the  female  supplied  the  proper  nourishment  for  its 
support.  Such  were  the  opinions  of  these  fathers  of  philosophy  ;  and 
these  continued  to  be  adopted  by  the  naturalists  and  schoolmen  of 
succeeding  ages  with  blind  veneration.  At  length,  Steno  and  Har- 
vey, taking  anatomy  for  their  guide,  gave  mankind  a  nearer  view  of 
nature  just  advancing  into  animation.  These  perceived  in  all  such 
animals  as  produced  their  young  alive,  two  glandular  bodies,  near  the 
womb,  resembling  that  ovary,  or  cluster  of  small  eggs,  which  is  found 
in  fowls ;  and,  from  the  analogy  between  both,  they  gave  these  also 
the  name  of  ovaria.  These,  as  they  resembled  eggs,  they  naturally 
concluded  had  the  same  offices  ;  and,  therefore,  they  were  induced  to 


ANIMALS.  167 

think  that  all  animals,  of  what  kind  soever,  were  produced  from  eggs 
At  first,  however,  there  was  some  altercation  raised  against  this  sys- 
tem :  for,  as  these  ovaria  were  separate  from  the  womh,  it  was  object- 
ed that  they  could  not  be  any  way  instrumental  in  replenishing  thai 
organ,  with  which  they  did  not  communicate.  But,  upon  more  mi 
nute  inspection,  Fallopius,  the  anatomist,  perceived  two  tubular  ves 
sels  depending  from  the  womb,  which,  like  the  horns  of  a  snail,  had 
a  power  of  erecting  themselves,  of  embracing  the  ovaria,  and  of  re- 
ceiving the  eggs,  in  order  to  be  fecundated  by  the  seminal  liquor. 
This  discovery  seemed,  for  a  long  time  after,  to  fix  the  opinions  of 
philosophers.  The  doctrine  of  Hippocrates  was  re-established,  and 
the  chief  business  of  generation  was  ascribed  to  the  female.  This 
was  for  a  long  time  the  established  opinion  of  the  schools ;  but  Leu- 
wenhoeck,  once  more,  shook  the  whole  system,  and  produced  a  new 
schism  among  the  lovers  of  speculation.  Upon  examining  the  seminal 
liquor  of  a  great  variety  of  male  animals  with  microscopes,  which 
helped  his  sight  more  than  that  of  any  of  his  predecessors;  he  perceiv- 
ed therein  infinite  numbers  of  little  living  creatures,  like  tadpoles, 
very  brisk,  and  floating  in  the  fluid  with  a  seeming  voluntary  motion. 
Each  of  these,  therefore,  was  thought  to  be  the  rudiments  of  an  ani- 
mal, similar  to  that  from  which  it  was  produced  ;  and  this  only  re- 
quired a  reception  from  the  female,  together  with  proper  nourishment, 
to  complete  its  growth.  The  business  of  generation  was  now,  there- 
fore, given  back  to  the  male  a  second  time,  by  many  ;  while  others 
suspended  their  assent,  and  chose  rather  to  confess  ignorance  than  to 
embrace  error.* 

In  this  manner  has  the  dispute  continued  for  several  ages,  some  ac- 
cidental discovery  serving,  at  intervals,  to  renew  the  debate,  and  re- 
vive curiosity.  It  was  a  subject  where  speculation  could  find  much 
room  to  display  itself;  and  Mr.  Buffon,  who  loved  to  speculate,  would 
not  omit  such  an  opportunity  of  giving  scope  to  his  propensity.  .Ac- 
cording to  this  most  pleasing  of  all  naturalists,  the  microscope  disco- 
vers that  the  seminal  liquor,  not  only  of  males,  but  of  females  also, 
abounds  in  these  moving  little  animals,  which  have  been  mentioned 
above,  and  that  they  appear  equally  brisk  in  either  fluid.  These  he 
takes  not  to  be  real  animals,  but  organical  particles,  which,  being 
simple,  cannot  be  said  to  organize  themselves,  but  go  to  the  compo- 
sition of  all  organized  bodies  whatsoever ;  in  the  same  manner  as  a 
tooth  in  the  wheel  of  a  watch,  cannot  be  called  either  a  wheel,  or  the 
watch,  and  yet  contributes  to  the  sum  of  the  machine.  These  orga- 
nical particles  are,  according  to  him,  diffused  throughout  all  nature, 
and  to  be  found  not  only  in  the  seminal  liquor,  but  in  most  other 
fluids  in  the  parts  of  vegetables,  and  all  parts  of  animated  nature.  As 
they  happen,  therefore,  to  be  differently  applied,  they  serve  to  con- 
stitute a  part  of  the  animal,  or  the  vegetable,  whose  growth  they  serve  t 
to  increase,  while  the  superfluity  is  thrown  off  in  the  seminal  liquor' 
of  both  sexes,  for  the  reproduction  of  other  animals  or  vegetables  of 
the  same  species.  These  particles  assume  different  figures,  according 
10  the  receptacle  into  which  they  enter;  falling  into  the  womb,  they 

*  Bonet.  Considerations  sur  les  Crjps  Origines 


168  A  HISTORY  OF 

unite  into  a  foetus ;  beneath  the  bark  of  a  tree  they  pullulate  into 
branches ;  and,  in  short,  the  same  particles  that  first  formed  the  ani- 
mal in  the  womb,  contribute  to  increase  its  growth  when  brought 
forth.* 

To  this  system  it  has  been  objected,  that  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
organical  substances  without  being  organized;  and  that,  if  devested  of 
organization  themselves,  they  could  never  make  an  organized  body, 
as  an  infinity  of  circles  could  never  make  a  triangle.  It  has  been  ob- 
jected, that  it  is  more  difficult  to  conceive  the  transformation  of  these 
organical  particles,  than  even  that  of  the  animal,  whose  growth  we 
are  inquiring  after;  and  this  system,  therefore,  attempts  to  explain 
one  obscure  thing  by  another  still  more  obscure. 

But  an  objection,  still  stronger  than  these,  has  been  advanced  by 
an  ingenious  countryman  of  our  own ;  who  asserts,  that  these  little 
animals,  which  thus  appear  swimming  and  sporting  in  almost  every 
fluid  we  examine  with  a  microscope,  are  not  real  living  particles,  but 
some  of  the  more  opaque  parts  of  the  fluid,  that  are  thus  increased 
in  size,  and  seem  to  have  a  much  greater  motion  than  they  have  in 
reality.  For  the  motion  being  magnified  with  the  object,  the  smallest 
degree  of  it  will  seem  very  considerable ;  and  a  being  almost  at  rest 
may,  by  these  means,  be  apparently  put  into  violent  action.  Thus, 
for  instance,  if  we  look  upon  the  sails  of  a  windmill  moving  at  a  dis- 
tance, they  appear  to  go  very  slow;  but,  if  we  approach  them,  and 
thus  magnify  their  bulk  to  our  eye,  they  go  round  with  great  rapidity. 
A  microscope,  in  the  same  manner,  serves  to  bring  our  eye  close  to 
the  object,  and  thus  to  enlarge  it;  and  not  only  increase  the  magni- 
tude of  its  parts,  but  of  its  motion.  Hence  therefore,  it  would  fol- 
ow,  that  these  organical  particles  that  are  said  to  constitute  the  bulk 
of  living  nature,  are  but  mere  optical  illusions ;  and  the  system  found- 
ed on  them  must,  like  them,  be  illusive. 

These,  and  many  other  objections,  have  been  made  to  this  system; 
which,  instead  of  enlightening  the  mind,  serve  only  to  show,  that  too 
close  a  pursuit  of  nature  very  often  leads  to  uncertainty.  Happily, 
however,  for  mankind,  the  most  intricate  inquiries  are  generally  the 
most  useless.  Instead,  therefore,  of  balancing  accounts  between  the 
sexes,  and  attempting  to  ascertain  to  which  the  business  of  generation 
most  properly  belongs,  it  will  be  more  instructive,  as  well  as  amusing, 
to  begin  with  animal  nature,  from  its  earliest  retirements,  and  eva- 
nescent outlines,  and  pursue  the  incipient  creature  through  all  its 
changes  in  the  womb,  till  it  arrives  into  open  day. 

The  usual  distinction  of  animals,  with  respect  to  their  manner  of 
generation,  has  been  into  the  oviparous  and  viviparous  kinds;  or,  in 
other  words,  into  those  that  bring  forth  an  egg,  which  is  afterwards 
hatched  into  life,  and  those  that  bring  forth  their  young  alive  and  per- 
fect. In  one  of  these  two  ways  all  animals  were  supposed  to  have 
been  produced,  and  all  other  kinds  of  generation  were  supposed  ima- 
ginary or  erroneous.  But  later  discoveries  have  taught  us  to  be  more 
cautious  in  making  general  conclusions,  and  have  even  induced  many 
to  doubt  whether  animal  life  may  not  be  produced  merely  fion1  pucre- 
fictiou.i 

»  Mr.  Buffon.  t  Bonet.  Consid.  p.  100. 


ANIMALS.  169 

Indeed,  the  infinite  number  of  creatures  that  putrid  substances  seem 
to  give  birth  to,  and  the  variety  of  little  insects  seen  floating  in  liquors, 
by  the  microscope,  appear  to  favour  this  opinion.  But  however  this 
may  be,  the  former  method  of  classing  animals  can  now  by  no  means 
be  admitted,  as  we  find  many  animals  that  are  produced  neither  from 
the  womb,  nor  from  the  shell,  but  merely  from  cuttings ;  so  that  to 
multiply  life  in  some  creatures,  it  is  sufficient  only  to  multiply  the  dis- 
section. This  being  the  simplest  method  of  generation,  and  that  in 
which  life  seems  to  require  the  smallest  preparation  for  its  existence, 
I  will  begin  with  it,  and  so  proceed  to  the  two  other  kinds,  from  the 
meanest  to  the  most  elaborate. 

The  earth-worm,  the  millipedes,  the  sea-worm,  and  many  marine 
insects,  may  be  multiplied  by  being  cut  in  pieces ;  but  the  polypus  is 
noted  for  its  amazing  fertility  ;  and  hence  it  will  be  proper  to  take 
the  description.  The  structure  of  the  polypus  may  be  compared  to 
the  finger  of  a  glove,  open  at  one  end,  and  closed  at  the  other.  The 
closed  end  represents  the  tail  of  the  polypus,  with  which  it  serves  to 
fix  itself  to  any  substance  it  happens  to  be  upon  ;  the  open  end  may 
be  compared  to  the  mouth ;  and,  if  we  conceive  six  or  eight  small 
strings  issuing  from  this  end,  we  shall  have  a  proper  idea  of  its  arms, 
which  it  can  erect,  lengthen,  and  contract  at  pleasure,  like  the  horns 
of  a  snail.  This  creature  is  very  voracious,  and  makes  use  of  its 
arms  as  a  fisherman  does  of  his  net,  to  catch  and  entangle  such  little 
animals  as  happen  to  come  within  its  reach.  It  lengthens  these  arms 
several  inches,  keeps  them  separate  from  each  other,  and  thus  occu- 
pies a  large  space  in  the  water  in  which  it  resides.  These  arms,  when 
extended,  are  as  fine  as  threads  of  silk,  and  have  a  most  exquisite  de- 
gree of  feeling.  If  a  small  worm  happens  to  get  within  the  sphere 
of  their  activity,  it  is  quickly  entangled  by  one  of  these  arms,  and, 
soon  after,  the  other  arms  come  to  its  aid  :  these  altogether  shorten- 
ing, the  worm  is  drawn  into  the  animal's  mouth,  and  quickly  devoured, 
colouring  the  body  as  it  is  swallowed.  Thus  much  is  necessary  to  be 
observed  of  this  animal's  method  of  living,  to  show  that  it  is  not  of 
the  vegetable  tribe,  but  a  real  animal,  performing  the  functions  which 
other  animals  are  found  to  perform,  and  endued  with  powers  that 
many  of  them  are  destitute  of.  But  what  is  most  extraordinary  re- 
mains yet  to  be  told  ;  for,  if  examined  with  a  microscope,  there  are 
seen  several  little  specks,  like  buds,  that  seem  to  pullulate  from  dif- 
ferent parts  of  its  body  ;  and  these  soon  after  appear  to  be  young  po 
lypi,  and  like  the  large  polypus,  begin  to  cast  their  little  arms  about  foi 
prey,  in  the  same  manner.  Whatever  they  happen  to  ensnare  is  de 
voured,  and  gives  a  colour  not  only  to  their  own  bodies,  but  to  thai 
of  the  parent ;  so  that  the  same  food  is  digested,  and  serves  for  the 
iiourishment  of  both.  The  food  of  the  little  one  passes  into  the  large 
polypus,  and  colours  its  body ;  and  this,  in  its  turn,  digests  and  swal- 
lows its  food  to  pass  into  theirs.  In  this  manner  every  polypus  has  a 
new  colony  sprouting  from  its  body ;  and  these  new  ones,  even  while 
attached  to  the  parent  animal,  become  parents  themselves,  having  a 
smaller  colony  also  budding  from  them  ;  all,  at  the  same  time,  busily 
employed  in  seeking  for  their  prey,  and  the  food  of  any  one  of  them 
serving  for  the  nourishment,  and  circulating  through  the  bodies  of  al! 


170  A  HISTORY  OF 

the  rest.  This  society,  however,  is  every  hour  dissolving;  those 
newly  produced  are  seen  at  intervals  to  leave  the  body  of  the  larg? 
polypus,  and  become,  shortly  after,  the  head  of  a  beginning  colony 
themselves. 

In  this  manner  the  polypus  multiplies  naturally  ;  but  one  may  take  a 
much  readier  and  shorter  way  to  increase  them,  and  this  only  by  cut- 
ting them  in  pieces.  Though  cut  into  thousands  of  parts,  each  part 
still  retains  its  vivacious  quality,  and  each  shortly  becomes  a  distinct 
and  a  complete  polypus ;  whether  cut  lengthways  or  crossways,  it  is 
all  the  same;  this  extraordinary  creature  seems  a  gainer  by  our  en- 
deavours, and  multiplies  by  apparent  destruction.  The  experiment 
has  been  tried,  times  without  number,  and  still  attended  with  the  same 
success.  Here,  therefore,  naturalists  who  have  been  blamed  for  the 
cruelty  of  their  experiments  upon  living  animals,  may  now  boast  of 
their  increasing  animal  life,  instead  of  destroying  it.  The  production 
of  the  polypus  is  a  kind  of  philosophical  generation.  The  famous 
Sir  Thomas  Brown  hoped  one  day  to  be  able  to  produce  children  by 
the  same  method  as  trees  are  produced  ;  the  polypus  is  multiplied  in 
this  manner  ;  and  every  philosopher  may  thus,  if  lie  please,  boast  of 
a  very  numerous,  though,  I  should  suppose,  a  very  useless  progeny. 

This  method  of  generation,  from  cuttings,  may  be  considered  as  the 
most  simple  kind,  and  is  a  strong  instance  of  the  little  pain£  Nature 
takes  in  the  forrruvtion  of  her  lower  and  humbler  productions.  As  the 
removal  of  these  from  inanimate  into  animal  existence  is  but  small, 
there  are  but  few  preparations  made  for  their  journey.  No  organs  of 
generation  seem  provided,  no  womb  to  receive,  no  shell  to  protect 
them  in  their  state  of  transition.  The  little  reptile  is  quickly  fitted 
for  all  the  offices  of  its  humble  sphere,  and,  in  a  very  short  time,  ar- 
rives at  the  height  of  its  contemptible  perfection. 

The  next  generation  is  of  those  animals  that  we  see  produced  from 
ihe  egg.  In  this  manner  all  birds,  most  fishes,  and  many  of  the  insect 
tribes,  are  brought  forth.  An  egg  may  be  considered  as  a  womb,  de- 
tached from  the  body  of  the  parent  animal,  in  which  the  embrvo  is 
but  just  beginning  to  be  formed.  It  may  be  regarded  as  a  kind  of  in- 
complete delivery,  in  which  the  animal  is  disburdened  of  its  young 
before  its  perfect  formation.  Fishes  and  insects,  indeed,  most  usually 
commit  the  care  of  their  eggs  to  hazard  ;  but  birds,  which  are  mere 
perfectly  formed,  are  found  to  hatch  them  into,  maturity  by  the  warmth 
of  their  bodies.  However,  any  other  heat,  of  the  same  temperature, 
would  answer  the  end  as  well ;  for  either  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  or 
of  a  stove,  is  equally  efficacious  in  bringing  the  animal  in  the  egg  to 
perfection.  In  this  respect,  therefore,  we  may  consider  generation 
from  the  egg  as  inferior  to  that  in  which  the  animal  is  brought  forth 
alive.  Nature  has  taken  care  of  the  viviparous  animal  in  every  stage 
of  its  existence.  That  force  which  separates  it  from  the  parent,  se- 
parates it  from  life  ;  and  the  embryo  is  shielded  with  unceasing  protec- 
tion till  it  arrives  at  exclusion.  But  it  is  different  with  the  little  ani- 
mal in  the  egg;  often  totally  neglected  by  the  parent,  and  always  se- 
parable from  it,  every  accident  may  retard  its  growth,  or  even  destroy 
its  existence.  Besides,  art.or  accident,  also,  may  bring  this  animal  to 
u  state  of  perfection  ;  so  that  it  can  nevei  be  considered  as  a  cow- 


ANIMALS.  171 

piete  work  of  nature,  in  which  so  much  is  left  for  accident  to  finish  or 
destroy. 

But  however  inferior  this  kind  of  generation  may  be,  the  observa« 
tion  of  it  will  afford  great  insight  into  that  of  nobler  animals,  as  we 
can  here  watch  the  progress  of  the  growing  embryo,  in  every  period 
of  its  existence,  and  catch  it  in  those  very  moments  when  it  first  seeim 
stealing  into  motion.  Malpighi  and  Haller  have  been  particularly  in 
dustrious  on  this  subject ;  and,  with  a  patience  almost  equalling  that 
of  the  sitting  hen,  have  attended  incubation  in  all  its  stages.  From 
them,  therefore,  we  have  an  amazing  history  of  the  chicken  in  the 
egg,  and  of  its  advances  into  complete  formation. 

It  would  be  methodically  tedious  to  describe  those  parts  of  the  egg 
which  are  well  known  and  obvious  ;  such  as  its  shell,  its  white,  and  its 
yolk ;  but  the  disposition  of  these  is  not  so  apparent.  Immediately 
under  the  shell  lies  that  common  membrane,  or  skin,  which  lines  it  on 
the  inside,  adhering  closely  to  it  every  where,  except  at  the  broad 
end,  where  a  little  cavity  is  left,  that  is  filled  with  air,  which  increases 
as  the  animal  within  grows  larger.  Under  this  membrane  are  con 
tained  two  whites,  though  seeming  to  us  to  be  only  one,  each  wrapped 
up  in  a  membrane  of  its  own,  one  white  within  the  other.  In  the 
midst  of  all  is  the  yolk,  wrapt  round  likewise  in  its  own  membrane. 
At  each  end  of  this  are  two  ligaments,  called  chalaza;,  which  are,  as 
it  were,  the  poles  of  this  microcosm,  being  white  dense  substances, 
made  from  the  membranes,  and  serving  to  keep  the  white  and  the 
yolk  in  their  places.  It  was  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Derham  that  they 
served  also  for  another  purpose ;  for  a  line  being  drawn  from  one 
ligament  to  the  other,  would  not  pass  directly  through  the  middle  of 
the  yolk,  but  rather  towards  one  side,  and  would  divide  the  yolk  into 
two  unequal  parts,  by  which  means  these  ligaments  served  to  keep 
the  smallest  side  of  the  yolk  always  uppermost ;  and  in  this  part  he 
supposed  the  cicatricula,  or  first  speck  of  life,  to  reside  ;  which,  by 
being  uppermost,  and  consequently  next  the  hen,  would  be  thus  in  the 
warmest  situation.  But  this  is  rather  fanciful  than  true,  the  incipient 
animal  being  found  in  all  situations,  and  not  particularly  influenced  by 
any.*  The  cicatricula,  which  is  the  part  where  the  animal  first  begins 
to  "show  signs  of  life,  is  not  unlike  a  vetch,  or  a  lentil,  lying  on  one 
side  of  the  yolk,  and  within  its  membrane.  All  these  contribute  to 
the  little  animal's  convenience,  or  support ;  the  outer  membranes, and 
ligaments,  preserve  the  fluids  in  their  proper  places;  the  white  serves 
as  nourishment  ;  and  the  yolk,  with  its  membranes,  after  a  time,  be- 
comes a  part  of  the  animal's  body.t  This  is  the  description  of  a  hen's 
egg,  and  answers  to  that  of  all  others,  how  large  or  how  small 
soever. 

Previous  to  putting  the  eggs  to  the  hen,  our  philosophers  first  ex- 
amined the  cicatricula,  or  little  spot,  already  mentioned  ;  and  which 
may  be  considered  as  the  most  important  part  of  the  egg.  This  was 
found,  in  those  that  were  impregnated  by  the  cock,  to  be  large;  but, 
in  those  laid  without  the  cock,  very  small.  It  was  found,  by  the  mi- 
croscope to  be  a  kind  of  bag,  containing  a  transparent  liquor,  in  tnn 

«  Ballet.  t  Ibid 


172  A  HISTORY  OF 

midst  of  which  the  embryo  was  seen  to  reside.  The  embryo  re 
sembled  a  composition  of  little  threads,  which  the  warmth  of  future 
incubation  tended  to  enlarge,  by  varying  and  liquifying  the  other 
fluids  contained  within  the  shell,  and  thus  pressing  them  either  into 
the  pores  or  tubes  of  their  substance. 

Upon  placing  the  eggs  in  a  proper  warmth,*  either  under  the  sun, 
or  in  a  stove,  after  six  hours  the  vital  speck  begins  to  dilate,  like  the 
pupil  of  the  eye.  The  head  of  the  chicken  is  instantly  seen,  with 
the  back  bone,  something  resembling  a  tadpole,  floating  in  its  ambient 
fluid,  but  as  yet  seeming  to  assume  none  of  the  functions  of  animal 
life.  In  about  six  hours  more  the  little  animal  is  seen  more  distinctly  ; 
the  head  becomes  more  plainly  visible,  and  the  vertebrae  of  the  back 
more  easily  perceivable.  All  these  signs  of  preparation  for  life  are 
increased  in  six  hours  more  :  and  at  the  end  of  twenty-four,  the  ribs 
begin  to  take  their  places,  the  neck  begins  to  lengthen,  and  the  head 
to  turn  to  one  side. 

At  this  time,  f  also,  the  fluids  in  the  egg  seem  to  have  changed 
place  ;  the  yolk,  which  was  before  in  the  centre  of  the  shell,  ap- 
proaches nearer  to  the  broad  end.  The  watery  part  of  the  white  is, 
in  some  measure,  evaporated  through  the  shell,  and  the  grosser  part 
sinks  to  the  small  end.  The  little  animal  appears  to  turn  towards  the 
part  of  the  broad  end,  in  which  a  cavity  has  been  described,  and  with 
its  yolk  seems  to  adhere  to  the  membrane  there.  At  the  end  of 
forty  hours  the  great  work  of  life  seems  fairly  begun,  and  the  animal 
plainly  appears  to  move  ;  the  back  bone,  which  is  of  a  whitish  colour, 
thickens  ;  the  head  is  turned  still  more  on  one  side  ;  the  first  rudiments 
of  the  eyes  begin  to  appear,  the  heart  beats,  and  the  blood  begins 
already  to  circulate.  The  parts,  however,  as  yet  are  fluid  ;  but,  by 
degrees,  become  more  and  more  tenacious,  and  hardened  into  a  kind 
of  jelly.  At  the  end  of  two  days,  the  liquor  in  which  the  chicken 
swims,  seems  to  increase  ;  the  head  appears  with  two  little  bladders 
in  the  place  of  eyes ;  the  heart  beats  in  the  manner  of  every  embryo 
where  the  blood  does  not  circulate  through  the  lungs.  In  about  four- 
teen hours  after  this,  the  chicken  is  grown  more  strong  ;  its  head, 
however,  is  still  bent  downwards  ;  the  veins  and  arteries  begin  to 
branch,  in  order  to  form  the  brain  ;  and  the  spinal  marrow  is  seen 
stretching  along  the  back  bone.  In  three  days  the  whole  body  of  the 
chicken  appears  bent ;  the  head,  with  its  two  eye-balls,  with  their 
different  humours,  now  distinctly  appear  ;  and  five  other  vessels  are 
seen,  which  soon  unite  to  form  the  rudiments  of  the  brain.  The 
outlines  also  of  the  thighs  and  wings  begin  to  be  seen,  and  the  body 
begins  to  gather  flesh.  At  the  end  of  the  fourth  day,  the  vesicles, 
that  go  to  form  the  brain,  approach  each  other  ;  the  wings  and  thighs 
appear  more  solid  ;  the  whole  body  is  covered  with  a  jelly-like  flesh  ; 
the  heart,  that  was  hitherto  exposed,  is  now  covered  up  within  the 
body,  by  a  very  thin  transparent  membrane  ;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
the  umbilical  vessels,  that  unite  the  animal  to  the  yolk,  now  appear  to 
come  forth  from  the  abdomen.  After  the  fifth  and  sixth  days,  the 
vessels  of  the  brain  begin  to  be  covered  over  ;  the  wings  -Mid  thigh* 

«  MalpighL  f  Harvey. 


ANIMALS.  l?B 

lengthen  ;  the  belly  is  closed  up,  and  tumid  ;  the  liver  te  seen  within 
it  very  distinctly,  not  yet  grown  red,  but  of  a  very  dusky  white  ;  both 
the  ventricles  of  the  heart  are  discerned,  as  if  they  were  two  separate 
hearts,  beating  distinctly  ;  the  whole  body  of  the  animal  is  covereu 
over  ;  and  the  traces  of  the  incipient  feathers  are  already  to  be  seen. 
The  seventh  day,  the  head  appears  very  large  ;  the  brain  is  covered 
entirely  over  ;  the  bill  begins  to  appear  betwixt  the  eyes  ;  and  the 
wings,  the  thighs,  and  the  legs,  have  acquired  their  perfect  figure.* 
Hitherto,  however,  the  animal  appears  as  if  it  had  two  bodies  ;  the 
yolk  is  joined  to  it  by  the  umbilical  vessels  that  come  from  the  belly, 
and  is  furnished  with  its  vessels,  through  which  the  blood  circulates, 
as  through  the  rest  of  the  body  of  the  chicken,  making  a  bulk  greater 
than  that  of  the  animal  itself.  But  towards  the  end  of  incubation,  the 
umbilical  vessels  shorten  the  yolk,  and  with  it  the  intestines  are  thrust 
up  into  the  body  of  the  chicken,  by  the  action  of  the  muscles  of  the 
belly  ;  and  the  two  bodies  are  thus  formed  into  one.  During  this 
state,  all  the  organs  are  found  to  perform  their  secretions ;  the  bile 
is  found  to  be  separated,  as  in  grown  animals  ;  but  it  is  fluid,  trans 
parent,  and  without  bitterness  :  and  the  chicken  then  also  appears  to 
have  lungs.  On  the  tenth,  the  muscles  of  the  wings  appear,  and  the 
feathers  begin  to  push  out.  On  the  eleventh,  the  heart,  which  hither- 
to had  appeared  divided,  begins  to  unite ;  the  arteries  which  belong 
to  it  join  into  it,  like  the  fingers  into  the  palm  of  the  hand.  All  these 
appearances  only  come  more  into  view,  because  the  fluids  the  vessels 
had  hitherto  secreted  were  more  transparent;  but  as  the  colour  of  the 
fluids  deepen,  their  operations  and  circulations  are  more  distinctly 
seen.  As  the  animal  thus,  by  the  eleventh  day  completely  formed, 
begins  to  gather  strength,  it  becomes  more  uneasy  in  its  situation,  and 
exerts  its  animal  powers  with  increasing  force.  For  some  time  before 
it  is  able  to  break  the  shell  in  which  it  is  imprisoned,  it  is  heard  to 
chirrup,  receiving  a  sufficient  quantity  of  air  for  this  purpose,  from 
that  cavity  which  lies  between  the  membrane  and  the  shell,  and  which 
must  contain  air  to  resist  the  external  pressure.  At  length,  upon  the 
twentieth  day,  in  some  birds  sooner,  and  later  in  others,  the  inclosed 
animal  breaks  the  shell,  within  which  it  has  been  confined,  with  its 
beak  ;  and  by  repeated  efforts,  at  last  procures  its  enlargement. 

From  this  little  history  we  perceive,  that  those  parts  which  are  mosi 
conducive  to  life,  are  the  first  that  are  begun:  the  head  and  the  back- 
bone, which,  no  doubt,  inclose  the  brain,  and  the  spinal  marrow, 
thougn  both  are  too  limpid  to  be  discerned,  are  the  first  that  are  seen 
to  exist ;  the  beating  of  the  heart  is  perceived  soon  after  ;  the  less  no- 
ble parts  seem  to  spring  from  these  :  the  wings,  the  thighs,  the  feet,  and 
lastly  the  bill.  Whatever,  therefore,  the  animal  has  double,  or  what- 
ever it  can  live  without  the  use  of,  these  are  latest  in  production.  Nji 
ture  first  sedulously  applying  to  the  formation  of  the  nobler  organs, 
without  which  life  would  be  of  short  continuance,  and  would  be  begun 
in  vain. 

The  resemblance  between  the  beginning  animal  in  the  egg,  and  the 
L-mbry    in  the  womb,  is  very  striking ;  and  this  similitude  has  induced 

*  Haller. 


174  A  HISTORY  OF 

many  to  assert,  that  all  animals  are  produced  from  eggs,  in  the  same 
manner.  They  consider  an  egg  excluded  from  the  body  by  some, 
and  separated  into  the  womb  by  others,  to  be  actions  merely  of  one 
kind ;  with  this  only  difference,  that  the  nourishment  of  the  one  is 
kept  within  the  body  of  the  parent,  and  increases  as  the  embryo  hap- 
pens to  want  the  supply ;  the  nourishment  of  the  other  is  prepared  all 
at  once,  and  sent  out  with  the  beginning  animal,  as  entirely  sufficient 
for  its  future  support.  But  leaving  this  to  the  discussion  of  anatomists, 
let  us  proceed  rather  with  facts  than  dissertations ;  and  as  we  have 
seen  the  progress  of  an  oviparous  animal,  or  one  produced  from  the 
shell,  let  us  likewise  trace  that  of  a  viviparous  animal,  which  is  brought 
forth  alive.  In  this  investigation,  Graaf  has,  with  a  degree  of  patience 
characteristic  of  his  nation,  attended  the  progress  and  increase  of  va- 
rious animals  in  the  womb,  and  minutely  marked  the  changes  they  un- 
dergo. Having  dissected  a  rabbit,  half  an  hour  after  impregnation, 
he  perceived  the  horns  of  the  womb,  that  go  to  embrace  and  com- 
municate with  the  ovary,  to  be  more  red  than  before ;  but  no  other 
change  in  the  rest  of  the  parts.  Having  dissected  another,  six  hours 
after,  he  perceived  the  follicules,  or  the  membrane  covering  the  eggs 
contained  in  the  ovary,  to  become  reddish.  In  a  rabbit  dissected 
after  twenty-four  hours,  he  perceived,  in  one  of  the  ovaries,  three 
follicules,  and,  in  the  other,  five,  that  were  changed  ;  being  become, 
from  transparent,  dark  and  reddish.  In  one  dissected  after  three 
days,  he  perceived  the  horns  of  the  womb  very  strictly  to  embrace 
the  ovaries ;  and  he  observed  three  of  the  follicules  in  one  of  them, 
much  longer  and  harder  than  before ;  pursuing  his  inquisition,  he  also 
found  two  of  the  eggs  actually  separated  into  the  horns  of  the  womb, 
and  each  about  the  size  of  a  grain  of  mustard-seed  ;  these  little  eggs 
were  each  of  them  inclosed  in  a  double  membrane,  the  inner  parts 
being  filled  with  a  very  limpid  liquor.  After  four  days,  he  found,  in 
one  of  the  ovaries,  four,  and,  in  the  other,  five  follicules,  emptied 
of  their  eggs ;  and  in  the  horns  correspondent  to  these,  he  found  an 
equal  number  of  eggs  thus  separated  ;  these  eggs  were  now  grown 
larger  than  before,  and  somewhat  of  the  size  of  sparrow-shot.  In 
five  days,  the  eggs  were  grown  to  the  size  of  duck-shot,  and  could 
be  blown  from  the  part  of  the  womb  where  they  were,  by  the  breath. 
lit  seven  days,  these  eggs  were  found  of  the  size  of  a  pistol-bullet, 
each  covered  with  its  double  membrane,  and  these  much  more  dis- 
linct  than  before.  In  nine  days,  having  examined  the  liquor  contained 
in  one  of  these  eggs,  he  found  it,  from  a  limpid  colour,  less  fluid,  to 
have  got  a  light  cloud  floating  upon  it.  In  ten  days,  this  cloud  began 
to  thicken,  and  to  form  an  oblong  body,  of  the  figure  of  a  little 
worm  :  and,  in  twelve  days,  the  figure  of  the  embryo  was  distinctly  to 
be  perceived,  and  even  its  parts  came  into  view.  In  the  region  of 
the  bieast  he  perceived  two  bloody  specks  ;  and  two  more  that  ap- 
peared whitish.  Fourteen  days  after  .impregnation,  the  head  of  the 
embryo  was  become  large  and  transparent,  the  eyes  prominent,  the 
mouth  open,  and  the  rudiments  of  the  ears  beginning  to  appear ;  the 
back-bone,  of  a  whitish  colour,  was  bent  towards  the  breast  ;  the 
two  bloody  specks  being  now  considerably  increased,  appeared  t«i  oe 
nothing  less  tnan  the  outlines  of  the  two  ventricles  of  thr.  heart;  lad 


ANIMALS.  17* 

the  two  whitish  specks  on  each  side,  now  appeared  to  be  the  rudi- 
ments of  the  lungs  ;  towards  the  region  ol  the  belly,  the  liver  began 
to  be  seen,  of  a  reddish  colour,  and  a  little  intricate  mass,  like  ravel 
"ed  thread,  discerned,  which  soon  appeared  to  be  the  stomach  and 
the  intestines  ;  the  legs  soon  after  began  to  be  seen,  and  to  assume 
their  natural  positions  :  and  from  that  time  forth,  all  the  parts  being 
formed,  every  day  only  served  to  develope  them  still  more,  until  the 
thirty-first  day,  when  the  rabbit  brought  forth  her  young,  completely 
fitted  for  the  purposes  of  their  humble  happiness. 

Having  thus  seen  the  stages  of  generation  in  the  meaner  animals, 
let  us  take  a  view  of  its  progress  in  man ;  and  trace  the  feeble  be- 
ginnings of  our  own  existence.  An  account  of  the  lowliness  of  our 
own  origin,  if  it  cannot  amuse,  will  at  least  serve  to  humble  us ;  and 
it  may  take  from  our  pride,  though  it  fails  to  gratify  our  curiosity.  We 
cannot  here  trace  the  variations  of  the  beginning  animal,  as  in  the 
former  instances ;  for  the  opportunities  of  inspection  are  but  few  and 
accidental :  f-r  this  reason  'we  must  be  content  often  to  fill  up  the 
blanks  of  our  history  with  conjecture.  And,  first,  we  are  entirely  ig- 
norant of  the  state  of  the  infant  in  the  womb,  immediately  after  con- 
ception ;  but  we  have  good  reason  to  believe  that  it  proceeds,  as  in 
most  other  animals,  from  the  egg.*  Anatomists  inform  us,  that  four 
days  after  conception,  there  is  found  in  the  womb,  an  oval  substance, 
about  the  size  of  a  small  pea,  but  longer  one  way  than  the  other ;  this 
little  body  is  formed  by  an  extremely  fine  membrane,  inclosing  a 
liquor  a  good  deal  resembling  the  white  of  an  egg :  in  this  may,  even 
then,  be  perceived,  several  small  fibres,  united  together,  which  form 
the  first  rudiments  of  the  embryo.  Besides  these,  are  seen  another 
set  of  fibres,  which  soon  after  become  the  placenta,  or  that  body  by 
which  the  animal  is  supplied  with  nourishment. 

Seven  days  after  conception,  we  can  readily  distinguish,  by  the  eve, 
the  first  lineaments  of  the  child  in  the  womb.  However,  they  are  as 
yet  without  form  ;  showing  at  the  end  of  seven  days  pretty  much 
such  an  appearance  as  that  of  the  chicken  after  four  and  twenty  hours, 
being  a  small  jelly-like  mass,  yet  exhibiting  the  rudiments  of  the  head  ; 
the  trunk  is  barely  visible  :  there  likewise  is  to  be  discerned  a  small 
assemblage  of  fibres  issuing  from  the  body  of  the  infant,  which  after- 
wards become  the  blood-vessels  that  convey  nourishment  turn  the 
placenta  to  the  child,  while  inclosed  in  the  womb. 

Fifteen  days  after  conception,  the  head  becomes  distinctly  visible, 
and  even  the  most  prominent  features  of  the  visage  begin  to  appear. 
The  nose  is  a  little  elevated  ;  there  are  two  black  specks  in  the  place 
of  the  eyes;  and  two  little  holes,  where  the  ears  are  afterwards  seen. 
The  body  of  the  embryo  also  is  grown  larger ;  and,  both  above  and  be- 
low, are  seen  two  little  protuberances,  which  mark  the  places  from 
whence  the  arms  and  thighs  are  to  proceed.  The  length  of  the  whole 
body,  at  this  time,  is  less  than  half  an  inch. 

At  the  end  of  three  weeks,  the  body  has  received  very  little  in- 
crease ;  but  the  legs  and  feet,  with  the  hands  and  arms,  are  become 

*  The  history  ol  the  child  in  the  womb  is  translated  from  Mr.  Buffon,  with  some  alter- 


176  A  HISTORY  OF 

apparent.  The  growth  of  the  arms  is  more  speedy  than  that  of  the 
legs ;  and  the  fingers  are  sooner  separated  than  the  toes.  About  this 
time  the  internal  parts  are  found,  upon  dissection,  to  become  dis- 
tinguishable. The  places  of  the  bones  are  marked  by  small  thread- 
like substances,  that  are  yet  more  fluid  even  than  a  jelly.  Among 
them,  the  ribs  are  distinguishable,  like  threads  also, disposed  on  each 
side  of  the  spine ;  and  even  the  fingers  and  toes  scarce  exceed  hairs 
in  thickness. 

In  a  month  the  embryo  is  an  inch  long ;  the  body  is  bent  forward, 
a  situation  which  it  almost  always  assumes  in  the  womb,  either  because 
a  posture  of  this  kind  is  the  most  easy,  or  because  it  takes  up  the  least 
room.  The  human  figure  is  now  no  longer  doubtful :  every  part  of 
the  face  is  distinguishable ;  the  body  is  sketched  out ;  the  bowels  are 
to  be  distinguished  as  threads ;  the  bones  are  still  quite  soft,  but  in 
some  places  beginning  to  assume  a  greater  rigidity ;  the  blood-vessels 
that  go  to  the  placenta,  which,  as  was  said,  contributes  to  the  child's 
nourishment,  are  plainly  seen  issuing  from  the  navel,  (being  therefore 
called  the  umbilical  vessels,)  and  going  to  spread  themselves  upon  the 
placenta.  According  to  Hippocrates,  the  male  embryo  developes 
sooner  than  the  female  :  he  adds,  that  at  the  end  of  thirty  days,  the 
parts  of  the  body  of  the  male  are  distinguishable ;  while  those  of  the 
female  are  not  equally  so  till  ten  days  after. 

In  six  weeks  the  embryo  is  grown  two  inches  long ;  the  human 
figure  begins  to  grow  every  day  more  perfect ;  the  head  being  still 
much  larger,  in  proportion  to  the  rest  of  the  body  ;  and  the  motion  of 
the  heart  is  perceived  almost  by  the  eye.  It  has  been  seen  to  beat  in 
an  embryo  of  fifty  days  old,  a  long  time  after  it  had  been  taken  out  of 
the  womb. 

In  two  months  the  embryo  is  more  than  two  inches  in  length.  The 
ossification  is  perceivable  in  the  arms  and  thighs,  and  in  the  point  of 
the  chin,  the  under  jaw  being  greatly  advanced  before  the  upper. 
These  parts,  however,  may  as  yet  be  considered  as  bony  points,  ra- 
ther than  as  bones.  The  umbilical  vessels,  which  before  went  side  by 
side,  are  now  begun  to  be  twisted,  like  a  rope,  one  over  the  other,  and 
go  to  join  with  the  placenta,  which,  as  yet,  is  but  small. 

In  three  months  the  embryo  is  above  three  inches  long,  and  weighs 
about  three  ounces.  Hippocrates  observes,  that  not  till  then  the  mo- 
ther perceives  the  child's  motion  ;  and  he  adds,  that  in  female  chil- 
dren, the  motion  is  not  observable  till  the  end  of  four  months.  How- 
ever, this  is  no  general  rule,  as  there  are  women  who  assert  that  they 
perceived  themselves  to  be  quick  with  child,  as  their  expression  is,  at 
the  end  of  two  months ;  so  that  this  quickness  seems  rather  to  arise 
from  the  proportion  between  the  child's  strength,  and  the  mother's 
sensibility,  than  from  any  determinate  period  of  time.  At  all  times, 
however,  the  child  is  equally  alive  ;  and,  consequently,  those  juries  of 
matrons  that  are  to  determine  upon  the  pregnancy  of  criminals,  should 
not  inquire  whether  the  woman  be  quick,  but  whether  she  be  witb 
child  ;  if  the  latter  be  perceivable,  the  former  follows  of  course. 

Four  months  and  a  half  after  conception,  the  embryo  is  from  six  to 
seven  inches  long.  All  the  parts  are  so  augmented,  that  even  their 
proportions  are  now  distinguishable.  The  very  nails  begin  to  appear 


ANIMALS.  IP 

upon  the  fingers  and  toes  ;  and  the  stomach  and  intestines  already  be 
gin  to  perform  their  functions  of  receiving  and  digesting.  In  the  sto 
mach  is  found  a  liquor  similar  to  that  in  which  the  embryo  floats  ;  in 
one  part  of  the  intestines,  a  milky  substance  ;  and  in  the  other,  an  ex- 
crementitious.  There  is  found  also  a  small  quantity  of  bile  in  the 
gall  bladder ;  and  some  urine  in  its  own  proper  receptacle.  By  this 
time  also,  the  posture  of  the  embryo  seems  to  be  determined.  The 
head  is  bent  forward,  so  that  the  chin  seems  to  rest  upon  its  breast; 
the  knees  are  raised  up  towards  the  head,  and  the  legs  bent  backward, 
somewhat  resembling  the  posture  of  those  who  sit  on  their  haunches. 
Sometimes  the  knees  are  raised  so  high  as  to  touch  the  cheeks,  and 
the  feet  are  crossed  over  each  other ;  the  arms  are  laid  upon  the 
breast,  while  one  of  the  hands,  and  often  both,  touch  the  visage  ; 
sometimes  the  hands  are  shut,  and  sometimes  also  the  arms  are  found 
hanging  down  by  the  body.  These  are  the  most  usual  postures  which 
the  embrvo  assumes  ;  but  these  it  is  frequently  known  to  change  ;  and 
it  is  owing  to  these  alterations  that  the  mother  so  frequently  feels  those 
twitches  which  are  usually  attended  with  pain. 

The  embryo,  thus  situated,  is  furnished  by  nature  with  all  things 
proper  for  its  support ;  and,  as  it  increases  in  size,  its  nourishment  also 
is  found  to  increase  with  it.  As  soon  as  it  first  begins  to  grow  in  the 
womb,  that  receptacle,  from  being  very  small,  grows  larger;  and,  what 
is  more  surprising,  thicker  every  day.  The  sides  of  a  bladder,  as  we 
know,  the  more  they  are  distended,  the  more  they  become  thin.  But 
here  the  larger  the  womb  grows,  the  more  it  appears  to  thicken. 
Within  this  the  embryo  is  still  farther  involved,  in  two  membranes, 
called  the  chorion  and  amnios  ;  and  floats  in  a  thin  transparent  fluid, 
upon  which  it  seems,  in  some  measure,  to  subsist.  However,  the  great 
storehouse,  from  whence  its  chief  nourishment  is  supplied,  is  called 
the  placenta  ;  a  red  substance  somewhat  resembling  a  sponge,  that 
adheres  to  the  inside  of  the  womb,  and  communicates,  by  the  umbi- 
lical vessels,  with  the  embryo.  These  umbilical  vessels,  which  con- 
sist of  a  vein  and  two  arteries,  issue  from  the  navel  of  the  child,  and 
are  branched  out  upon  the  placenta ;  where  they,  in  fact,  seem  to 
form  its  substance  ;  and,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  to  suck  up  their  nour- 
ishment from  the  womb,  and  the  fluids  contained  therein.  The  blood 
thus  received  from  the  womb,  by  the  placenta,  and  communicated  by 
ihe  umbilical  vein  to  the  body  of  the  embryo,  is  conveyed  to  the 
heart ;  where,  without  ever  passing  into  the  lungs,  as  in  the  born  in- 
fant, it  takes  a  shorter  course  ;  for  entering  the  right  auricle  of  the 
heart,  instead  of  passing  up  into  the  pulmonary  artery,  it  seems  to 
break  this  partition,  and  goes  directly  through  the  body  of  the  heart, 
by  an  opening  called  the  foramen  ovale,  and  from  thence  to  the  aorta, 
or  great  artery  ;  by  which  it  is  driven  into  all  parts  of  the  body.  Thus 
we  see  the  placenta,  in  some  measure,  supplying  the  place  of  lungs ; 
for  as  the  little  animal  can  receive  no  air  by  inspiration,  the  lungs  are 
therefore  useless.  But  we  see  the  placenta  converting  the  fluid  of  thu 
womb  into  blood,  and  sending  it,  by  the  umbilical  vein,  to  the  heart  ; 
from  whence  it  is  dispatched  by  a  quicker  and  shorter  circulating 
through  the  whole  framp. 
VOL.  I.  M 


178  A  HISTORY  OF 

In  this  manner  the  embryo  reposes  in  the  womb  ;  supplied  with  that 
nourishment  which  is  fitted  to  its  necessities,  and  furnished  with  .those 
organs  that  are  adapted  to  its  situation.  As  its  sensations  are  but  few, 
its  wants  are  in  the  same  proportion  ;  and  it  is  probable  that  a  sleep, 
with  scarce  any  intervals,  marks  the  earliest  period  of  human  life.  As 
the  little  creature,  however,  gathers  strength  and  size,  it  seems  to  be- 
come more  wakeful  and  uneasy  ;  even  in  the  womb  it  begins  to  feel 
the  want  of  something  it  does  not  possess  ;  a  sensation  that  seems  co- 
eval with  man's  nature,  and  never  leaves  him  till  he  dies.  The  embryo 
even  then  begins  to  struggle  for  a  state  more  marked  by  pleasure  and 
pain,  and,  from  about  the  sixth  month,  begins  to  give  the  mother 
warning  of  the  greater  pain  she  is  yet  to  endure.  The  continuation 
of  pregnancy  in  woman  is  usually  nine  months,  but  there  have  been 
many  instances  when  the  child  has  lived  that  was  born  at  seven  ;  and 
some  are  found  to  continue  pregnant  a  month  above  the  usual  time. 
When  the  appointed  time  approaches,  the  infant,  that  has  for  some 
months  been  giving  painful  proofs  of  its  existence,  now  begins  to  in- 
crease its  efforts  for  liberty.  The  head  is  applied  downwards,  to  the 
aperture  of  the  womb,  and  by  reiterated  efforts  it  endeavours  to  ex- 
tend the  same  :  these  endeavours  produce  the  pain,  which  all  women 
in  labour  feel  in  some  degree  ;  those  of  strong  constitutions  the  least, 
those  most  weakly  the  most  severely ;  since  we  learn,  that  the  women 
of  Africa  always  deliver  themselves,  and  are  well  a  few  hours  after  ; 
while  those  of  Europe  require  assistance,  and  recover  more  slowly. 
Thus  the  infant,  still  continuing  to  push  with  its  head  forward,  by  the 
repetition  of  its  endeavours,  at  last  succeeds,  and  issues  into  life.  The 
blood,  which  had  hitherto  passed  through  the  heart,  now  takes  a  wider 
circuit ;  and  the  foramen  ovale  closes  ;  the  lungs,  that  had  till  this  time 
been  inactive,  now  first  begin  their  functions  ;  the  air  rushes  in  to 
distend  them  ;  and  this  produces  the  first  sensation  of  pain,  which  the 
infant  expresses  by  a  shriek  :  so  that  the  beginning  of  our  lives,  as  well 
as  the  end,  is  marked  with  anguish.* 

From  comparing  these  accounts,  we  perceive  that  the  most  laboured 
generation  is  the  most  perfect ;  and  that  the  animal,  which,  in  propor- 
tion to  its  bulk,  takes  the  longest  time  for  production,  is  always  the 
most  complete  when  finished.  Of  all  others,  man  seems  the  slowest 
in  coming  into  life,  as  he  is  the  slowest  in  coming  to  perfection  ;  other 
animals  of  the  same  bulk,  seldom  remain  in  the  womb  above  six  months, 
while  he  continues  nine  ;  and  even  after  his  birth,  appears  more  than 
any  other  to  have  his  state  of  imbecility  prolonged. 

We  may  observe  also,  that  that  generation  is  the  most  complete,  in 
which  the  fewest  animals  are  produced :  Nature,  by  attending  to  the 
production  of  one  at  a  time,  seems  to  exert  all  her  efforts  in  bringing 
it  to  perfection  ;  but,  where  this  attention  is  divided,  the  animals  so 
produced  come  into  the  world  with  partial  advantages.  In  this  man- 
ner twins  are  never,  at  least  while  infants,  so  large,  or  so  strong,  as 
those  that  come  singly  into  the  world ;  each  having,  in  some  measure, 
robbed  the  other  of  its  right ;  as  that  support,  which  Nature  meant 
for  one,  has  been  prodigally  divided. 

*  Bonet.  Contemplat.  de  la  Nature,  vol.  i.  p  212 


ANIMALS.  179 

In  this  manner,  as  those  animals  are  the  best  that  are  produced 
singly,  so  we  find  that  the  noblest  animals  are  ever  the  least  fruitful. 
These  are  seen  usually  to  bring  forth  but  one  at  a  time,  and  to  place 
all  their  attention  upon  that  alone.  On  the  other  hand,  all  the 
oviparous  kinds  produce  an  amazing  plenty  ;  and  even  the  lower  tribes 
of  viviparous  animals  increase  in  a  seeming  proportion  to  their  mi- 
nuteness and  imperfection.  Nature  seems  lavish  of  life  in  the  lower 
orders  of  the  creation  ;  and,  as  if  she  meant  them  entirely  for  the 
use  of  the  nobler  races,  she  appears  to  have  bestowed  greater  pains 
in  multiplying  the  number  than  in  completing  the  kind.  In  this  man- 
ner, while  the  elephant  and  the  horse  bring  forth  but  one  at  a  time, 
the  spider  and  the  beetle  are  seen  to  produce  a  thousand  ;  and  even 
among  the  smaller  quadrupeds,  all  the  inferior  kinds  are  extremely 
fertile  ;  any  one  of  these  being  found,  in  a  very  few  months,  to  be- 
come the  parent  of  a  numerous  progeny. 

In  this  manner,  therefore,  the  smallest  animals  multiply  in  the 
greatest  proportion  ;  and  we  have  reason  to  thank  Providence  that 
the  most  formidable  animals  are  the  least  fruitful.  Had  the  lion  and 
the  tiger  the  same  degree  of  fecundity  with  the  rabbit  or  the  rat,  all 
the  arts  of  man  would  be  unable  to  oppose  these  fierce  invaders ;  and 
we  should  soon  perceive  them  become  the  tyrants  of  those  who  claim 
the  lordship  of  the  creation.  But  Heaven,  in  this  respect,  has  wisely 
consulted  the  advantage  of  all.  It  has  opposed  to  man  only  such 
enemies  as  he  has  art  and  strength  to  conquer  ;  and  as  large  animals 
require  proportional  supplies,  nature  was  unwilling  to  give  new  life, 
where  it,  in  some  measure,  denied  the  necessary  means  of  sub- 
sistence. 

In  consequence  of  this  pre-established  order,  the  animals  that  are 
endowed  with  the  most  perfect  methods  of  generation,  and  bring  forth 
but  one  at  a  time,  seldom  begin  to  procreate  till  they  have  almost 
acquired  their  full  growth.  On  the  other  hand,  those  which  bring 
forth  many,  engender  before  they  have  arrived  at  half  their  natural 
size.  The  horse  and  the  bull  come  almost  to  perfection  before  they 
begin  to  generate  ;  the  hog  and  the  rabbit  scarcely  leave  the  teat  be- 
fore they  become  parents  themselves.  In  whatever  light,  therefore, 
we  consider  this  subject,  we  shall  find  that  all  creatures  approach 
most  to  perfection,  whose  generation  most  nearly  resembles  that  of 
man.  The  reptile  produced  from  cutting  is  but  one  degree  above  the 
vegetable.  The  animal  produced  from  the  egg  is  a  step  higher  in  the 
scale  of  existence  ;  that  class  of  animals  which  are  brought  forth 
alive,  are  still  more  exalted.  Of  these,  such  as  bring  forth  one  at  a 
time  are  the  most  complete :  and  the  foremost  of  these  stands  Man, 
t/ie  great  master  of  all}  who  seems  to  have  united  the  peifections  of 
all  the  rest  in  his  formation. 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE    INFANCY    OP    MAN. 

WHEN  we  take  a  survey  of  the  various  classes  of  animals,  and  ex- 
umine  their  strength,  their  beauty,  or  their  structure,  we  shaL  find 
man  to  possess  most  of  those  advantages  united,  wWUH  the  rest  enjoy 


180  A  HISTORY  OF 

partially.  Infinitely  superior  to  all  others  in  the  power*  .*/  the  un- 
derstanding, he  is  also  superior  to  them  in  the  fitness  and  proportions 
of  his  form.  He  would,  indeed,  have  been  one  of  the  most  mise- 
rable beings  upon  earth,  if  with  a  sentient  mind  he  was  so  formed  as 
to  be  incapable  of  obeying  its  impulse  ;  but  Nature  has  otherwise 
provided ;  as  with  the  most  extensive  intellects  to  command,  she  has 
furnished  him  with  a  body  the  best  fitted  for  obedience. 

In  infancy,*  however,  that  mind  and  this  body  form  the  most  help- 
less union  in  all  animated  nature  ;  and,  if  any  thing  can  give  us  a 
picture  of  complete  imbecility,  it  is  a  man  when  just  come  into  the 
world.  The  infant  just  born  stands  in  need  of  all  things,  without  the 
power  of  procuring  any.  The  lower  races  of  animals,  upon  being 
produced,  are  active,  vigorous,  and  capable  of  self-support ;  but  the 
infant  is  obliged  to  wait  in  helpless  expectation  ;  and  its  cries  are  its 
only  aid  to  procure  subsistence. 

An  infant  just  born  may  be  said  to  come  from  one  element  into 
another  :  for,  from  the  watery  fluid  in  which  it  was  surrounded,  it 
now  immerges  into  air  ;  and  its  first  cries  seem  to  imply  how  greatly 
it  regrets  the  change.  How  much  longer  it  could  have  continued  in 
a  state  of  almost  total  insensibility  in  the  womb,  is  impossible  to  tell : 
but  it  is  very  probable  that  it  could  remain  there  some  hours  more. 
In  order  to  throw  some  light  upon  this  subject,  Mr.  Buffon  so  placed 
a  pregnant  bitch,  as  that  her  puppies  were  brought  forth  in  warm 
water,  in  which  he  kept  them  above  half  an  hour  at  a  time.  How- 
ever, he  saw  ne  change  in  the  animals  thus  newly  brought  forth  ; 
they  continued  the  whole  time  vigorous  ;  and,  during  the  whole  time, 
it  is  very  probable  that  the  blood  circulated  through  the  same  chan- 
nels through  which  it  passed  while  they  continued  in  the  womb. 

Almost  all  animals  have  their  eyes  closed,t  for  some  days  after 
being  brought  into  the  world.  The  infant  opens  them  the  instant  of 
its  birth.  However,  it  seems  to  keep  them  fixed  and  idle  ;  they 
want  that  lustre  which  they  acquire  by  degrees  ;  and  if  they  hap- 
pen to  move,  it  is  rather  an  accidental  gaze  than  an  exertion  of  the 
act  of  seeing.  The  light  alone  seems  to  make  the  greatest  impres- 
sion upon  them.  The  eyes  of  infants  are  sometimes  found  turned  to 
the  place  where  it  is  strongest ;  and  the  pupil  is  seen  to  dilate  and 
diminish,  as  in  grown  persons,  in  proportion  to  the  quantity  it  re- 
ceives. But  still  the  infant  is  incapable  of  distinguishing  objects  ;  the 
sense  of  seeing,  like  the  rest  of  the  senses,  requires  a  habit  before  it 
becomes  any  way  serviceable.  All  the  senses  must  be  compared  with 
each  other,  and  must  be  made  to  correct  the  defects  of  one  another, 
before  they  can  give  just  information.  It  is  probable,  therefore,  that 
if  the  infant  could  express  its  own  sensations,  it  would  give  a  very 
extraordinary  description  of  the  illusions  which  it  suffers  from  them 
The  signv  might,  perhaps,  be  represented  as  inverting  objects,  or 
multiplying  them  ;  the  hearing,  instead  of  conveying  one  uniform 
tone,  might  be  said  to  bring  up  an  interrupted  succession  of  noises  ; 
and  the  touch  apparently  would  divide  one  body  into  as  many  as 
there  are  fingers  that  grasped  it.  But  all  these  errors  are  lost  in  one 

»  Buffon,  vol.  iv.  p.  173.  t  Buffon.  vol.  iv  p.  173. 


ANIMALS  i81 

confused  idea  of  existence  ;  and  it  is  happy  for  the  infant  that  it  can 
then  make  but  very  little  use  of  its  senses,  when  they  could  serve 
only  to  bring  it  false  information. 

If  there  be  any  distinct  sensations,  those  of  pain  seem  to  be  much 
more  frequent  and  stronger  than  those  of  pleasure.  The  infant's 
cries  are  sufficient  indications  of  the  uneasiness  it  must,  at  every  in- 
terval, endure  ;  while,  in  the  beginning,  it  has  got  no  external  marks 
to  testify  its  satisfactions.  It  is  not  till  after  forty  days  that  it  is  seen 
to  smile ;  and  not  till  that  time  also,  that  tears  begin  to  appear,  its 
former  expressions  of  uneasiness  being  always  without  them.  As  to 
any  other  marks  of  the  passions,  the  infant  being  as  yet  almost  with- 
out them,  it  can  express  none  of  them  in  its  visage ;  which,  except 
in  the  act  of  crying  and  laughing,  is  fixed  in  a  settled  serenity.  All 
the  other  parts  of  the  body  seem  equally  relaxed  and  feeble :  its  mo- 
tions are  uncertain,  and  its  postures  without  choice;  it  is  unable  to 
stand  upright ;  its  hams  are  yet  bent,  from  the  habit  which  it  received 
from  its  position  in  the  womb ;  it  has  not  strength  enough  in  its  arms  to 
stretch  them  forward,  much  less  to  grasp  any  thing  with  its  hands  ;  it 
rests  just  in  the  posture  it  is  laid  ;  and,  if  abandoned,  must  continue 
in  the  same  position. 

Nevertheless,  though  this  be  the  description  of  infancy  among 
mankind  in  general,  there  are  countries  and  races  among  whom  in- 
fancy does  not  seem  marked  with  such  utter  imbecility,  but  whure 
the  children,  not  long  after  they  are  born,  appear  possessed  of  a 
greater  share  of  self-support.  The  children  of  negroes  have  a  sur- 
prising degree  of  this  premature  industry :  they  are  able  to  walk 
at  two  months  ;  or,  at  least,  to  move  from  one  place  to  another  :  they 
also  hang  to  the  mother's  back  without  any  assistance,  and  seize  tho 
breast  over  her  shoulder ;  continuing  in  this  posture  till  she  thinks 
proper  to  lay  them  down.  This  is  very  different  in  the  children  oi 
our  countries,  that  seldom  are  able  to  walk  under  a  twelvemonth. 

The  skin  of  children  newly  brought  forth  is  always  red,  proceeding 
from  its  transparency,  by  which  the  blood  beneath  appears  more 
conspicuous.  Some  say  that  this  redness  is  greatest  in  those  chil- 
dren than  are  afterwards  about  to  have  the  finest  complexions ;  and  it 
appears  reasonable  that  it  should  be  so,  since  the  thinnest  skins  are 
always  the  fairest.  The  size  of  a  new-born  infant  is  generally  about 
twenty  inches,  and  its  weight  about  twelve  pounds.  The  head  is 
•arge,  and  all  the  members  delicate,  soft,  and  puffy.  These  appear- 
ances alter  with  its  age  ;  as  it  grows  older,  the  head  becomes  less  in 
oroportion  to  the  rest  of  the  body  ;  the  flesh  hardens  ;  the  bones, 
ihat  before  birth  grew  very  thick  in  proportion,  now  lengthen  by 
degrees,  and  the  human  figure  more  and  more  acquires  its  due  di- 
mensions. In  such  children,  however,  as  are  but  feeble  or  sickly, 
the  head  always  continues  too  big  for  the  body  ;  the  heads  of  dwarfs 
being  extremely  large  in  proportion. 

Infants,  when  newly  born,  pass  most  of  their  time  in  sleeping,  and 
^wake  with  crying,  excited  either  by  sensations  of  pain  or  of  hun 
ger.  Man,  when  come  to  maturity,  but  rarely  feels  the  want  of  food  >xs 
eating  twice  or  thrice  in  the  four  and  twenty  hours  is  known  to  sufi.^ 
the  most  voracious :  but  the  infant  may  be  considered  as  a  little  glu* 


132  A  HISTORY  OF 

ton,  fhoso  only  pleasure  consists  in  its  appetite ;  and  this,  except 
when  it  sleeps,  it  is  never  easy  without  satisfying  Thus  nature  has 
adapted  different  desires  to  the  different  periods  of  life  ;  each  as  it 
seems  most  necessary  for  human  support  or  succession.  While  the 
animal  is  yet  forming,  hunger  excites  it  to  that  supply  which  is  ne- 
cessary for  its  growth  ;  when  it  is  completely  formed,  a  different  ap- 
petite takes  place,  that  incites  it  to  communicate  existence. — These 
two  desires  take  up  the  whole  attention  at  different  periods,  but  are 
very  seldom  found  to  prevail  strongly  together  in  the  same  age;  one 
pleasure  ever  serving  to  repress  the  other:  and,  if  we  find  a  person  of  full 
age,  placing  a  principal  part  of  his  happiness  in  the  nature  and  quan- 
tity of  his  food,  we  have  strong  reasons  to  suspect,  that  with  respect 
to  his  other  appetites,  he  still  retains  a  part  of  the  imbecility  of  his 
childhood. 

It  is  extraordinary,  however,  that  infants,  who  are  thus  more  vo- 
racious than  grown  persons,  are  nevertheless  more  capable  of  sustain- 
ing hunger.  We  have  several  instances,  in  accidental  cases  of  famine, 
in  which  the  child  has  been  known  to  survive  the  parent,  and  seen 
clinging  to  the  breast  of  its  dead  mother.  Their  little  bodies  also,  are 
more  patient  of  cold  ;  and  we  have  similar  instances  of  the  mother's 
perishing  in  the  snow,  while  the  infant  has  been  found  alive  beside 
her.  However,  if  we  examine  the  internal  structure  of  infants,  we 
shall  find  an  obvious  reason  for  both  these  advantages.  Their  blood- 
vessels are  known  to  be  much  larger  than  in  adults ;  and  their  nerves 
much  thicker  and  softer  :  thus  being  furnished  with  a  more  copious 
quantity  of  juices,  both  of  the  nervous  and  sanguinary  kinds,  the 
infant  finds  a  temporary  sustenance  in  this  superfluity,  and  does  not 
expire  till  both  are  exhausted.  The  circulation  also  being  larger  and 
quicker,  supplies  it  with  proportionable  warmth,  so  that  it  is  more  ca- 
pable of  resisting  the  accidental  rigours  of  the  weather. 

The  first  nourishment  of  infants  is  well  known  to  be  the  mother's 
milk;  and,  what  is  remarkable,  the  infant  has  milk  in  its  own  breasts, 
which  may  be  squeezed  out  by  compression :  this  nourishment  be- 
comes less  grateful  as  the  child  gathers  strength  ;  and  perhaps,  also, 
more  unwholesome.  However,  in  cold  countries,  which  are  unfa 
vourable  to  propagation,  and  where  the  female  has  seldom  above 
three  or  four  children  at  the  most,  during  her  life,  she  continues  to 
suckle  the  child  for  four  or  five  years  together.  In  this  manner  the 
mothers  of  Canada  and  Greenland  are  often  seen  suckling  two  or 
three  children,  of  different  ages,  at  a  time. 

The  life  of  infants  is  very  precarious,  till  the  age  of  three  or  four, 
from  which  time  it  becomes  more  secure  ;  and  when  a  child  arrives 
at  its  seventh  year,  it  is  then  considered  as  a  more  certain  life,  as  Mr. 
Buffon  asserts,  than  at  any  other  age  whatever.  It  appears,  from 
Simpson's  Tables,  that  of  a  certain  number  of  children  born  at  the 
same  time,  a  fourth  part  are  found  dead  at  the  end  of  the  first  year  ; 
more  than  one-third  at  the  end  of  the  second ;  and  at  least  half  at 
the  end  of  the  third ;  so  that  those  who  live  to  be  above  three  years 
old,  are  indulged  a  longer  term  than  half  the  rest  of  their  fellow 
creatures.  Nevertheless,  life,  at  that  period,  may  be  considered  as 
mere  animal  existence  ;  and  rather  a  preparation  for,  than  an  enjoy* 


ANIMALS.  183 

ment  of,  those  satisfactions,  both  of  mind  and  body,  that  make  life 
of  real  value  :  and  hence  it  is  more  natural  for  mankind  to  de 
plore  a  fellow-creature,  cut  off  in  the  bloom  of  life,  than  one  dying 
in  early  infancy.  The  one,  by  living  up  to  youth,  and  thus  wading 
through  the  disadvantageous  parts  of  existence,  seems  to  have  earned 
a  short  continuance  of  its  enjoyments  :  the  infant,  on  the  contrary, 
has  served  but  a  short  apprenticeship  to  pain  ;  and,  when  taken  away, 
may  be  considered  as  rescued  from  a  long  continuance  of  misery. 

There  is  something  very  remarkable  in  the  growth  of  the  human 
body.*  The  embryo  in  the  womb  continues  to  increase  still  more 
and  more  till  it  is  born.  On  the  other  hand,  the  child's  growth  is  less 
every  year,  till  the  time  of  puberty,  when  it  seems  to  start  up  of  a 
sudden.  Thus,  for  instance,  the  embryo,  which  is  an  inch  long  in 
the  first  month,  grows  but  one  inch  and  a  quarter  in  the  second  ;  it 
then  grows  one  and  a  half  in  the  third ;  two  and  a  half  in  the  fourth; 
and  in  this  manner  it  keep  increa'sing,  till  in  the  last  month  of  its 
continuance  it  is  actually  found  to  grow  four  inches ;  and,  in  the 
whole,  about  eighteen  inches  long.  But  it  is  otherwise  with  the  child 
when  born  ;  if  we  suppose  it  eighteen  inches  at  that  time,  it  grows  in 
the  first  year  six  or  seven  inches  ;  in  the  second  year,  it  grows  but 
four  inches  ;  in  the  third  year,  about  three  ;  and  so  on,  at  the  rate  of 
about  an  inch  and  a  half,  or  two  inches,  each  year,  till  the  time  of 
puberty,  when  nature  seerns  to  make  one  great  last  effort,  to  com- 
plete her  work,  and  unfold  the  whole  animal  machine. 

The  growth  of  the  mind  in  children  seems  to  correspond  with  that 
of  the  body.  The  comparative  progress  of  the  understanding  is 
greater  in  infants  than  in  children  of  three  or  four  years  old.  If  we 
only  reflect  a  moment  on  the  amazing  acquisitions  that  an  infant 
makes  in  the  first  and  second  years  of  life,  we  shall  have  much  cause 
for  wonder.  Being  sent  into  a  world  where  every  thing  is  new  and 
unknown,  the  first  months  of  life  are  spent  in  a  kind  of  torpid  amaze- 
ment ;  an  attention  distracted  by  the  multiplicity  of  objects  that  press 
to  be  known.  The  first  labour,  therefore,  of  the  little  learner  is,  to 
correct  the  illusions  of  the  senses,  to  distinguish  one  object  from 
another,  and  to  exert  the  memory,  so  as  to  know  them  again.  In 
this  manner  a  child  of  a  year  old  has  already  made  a  thousand  ex- 
periments ;  all  which  it  has  properly  ranged,  and  distinctly  remem- 
bers. Light,  heat,  fire,  sweets,  and  bitters,  sounds  soft  or  terrible, 
are  all  distinguished  at  the  end  of  a  very  few  months.  Besides  this, 
every  person  the  child  knows,  every  individual  object  it  becomes 
fond  of,  its  rattles,  or  its  bells,  may  be  all  considered  as  so  many 
new  lessons  to  the  young  mind,  with  which  it  has  not  become  ac- 
quainted, without  repeated  exertions  of  the  understanding.  At  this 
period  of  life,  the  knowledge  of  every  individual  object  cannot  be 
acquired  without  the  same  effort  which,  when  grown  up,  is  employed 
upon  the  most  abstract  idea  :  every  thing  the  child  hears  or  sees,  all 
the  marks  and  characters  of  nature,  are  as  much  unknown,  and  re 
quire  the  same  attention  to  attain,  as  if  the  reader  were  set  to  un 
4erstand  the  characters  of  an  Ethiopic  manuscriot ;  and  yet  we  so< 

*  Buffon,  voi.  iv.  p.  171 


184  A  HISTORY  OF 

in  how  short  a  time  the  little  student  begins  to  understand  them  all, 
and  to  give  evident  marks  of  early  industry. 

It  is  very  amusing  to  pursue  the  young  mind,  while  employed  in  its 
first  attainments.  At  about  a  year  old  the  same  necessities  that  first 
engaged  its  faculties,  increase  as  its  acquaintance  with  nature  en- 
larges. Its  studies,  therefore,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  are  no 
way  relaxed  ;  for  having  experienced  what  gave  pleasure  at  one  time, 
it  desires  a  repetition  of  it  from  the  same  object ;  and,  in  order  to  ob- 
tain this,  that  object  must  be  pointed  out ;  here,  therefore,  a  new 
necessity  arises,  which,  very  often,  neither  its  little  arts  nor  impor- 
tunities can  remove ;  so  that  the  child  is  at  last  obliged  to  set  about 
naming  the  objects  it  desires  to  possess  or  avoid.  In  beginning  to 
speak,  which  is  usually  about  a  year  old,  children  find  a  thousand 
difficulties.  It  is  not  without  repeated  trials  that  they  come  to  pro- 
nounce any  one  of  the  letters ;  nor  without  an  effort  of  the  memory, 
that  they  can  retain  them.  For  this  reason,  we  frequently  see  them 
attempting  a  sound  which  they  had  learned,  but  forgot ;  and  when 
they  have  failed,  I  have  often  seen  their  attempts  attended  with  ap- 
parent confusion.  The  letters  soonest  learned,  are  those  which  are 
most  easily  formed  ;  thus  A  and  B  require  an  obvious  disposition 
of  the  organs,  and  their  pronunciation  is  consequently  soon  attained. 
'Z  and  R,  which  require  a  more  complicated  position,  are  learned  with 
greater  difficulty.  And  this  may,  perhaps,  be  the  reason  why  the 
children  in  some  countries  speak  sooner  than  in  others  ;  for  the  letters 
mostly  occurring  in  the  language  of  one  country,  being  such  as  are  of 
easy  pronunciation,  that  language  is  of  course  more  easily  attained. 
In  this  manner  the  children  of  the  Italians  are  said  to  speak  sooner 
than  those  of  the  Germans,  the  language  of  the  one  being  smooth  and 
open  ;  that  of  the  other,  crowded  with  consonants,  and  extremely 
guttural. 

But  be  this  as  it  will,  in  all  countries  children  are  found  able  to  ex- 
press the  greatest  part  of  their  wants  by  the  time  they  arrive  at  two 
years  old  ;  and  from  the  moment  the  necessity  of  learning  new  words 
ceases,  they  relax  their  industry.  It  is  then  that  the  mind,  like  the 
body,  seems  every  year  to  make  slow  advances  ;  and,  in  order  to  spur 
up  attention,  many  systems  of  education  have  been  contrived. 

Almost  every  philosopher  who  has  written  on  the  education  of 
children,  has  been  willing  to  point  out  a  method  of  his  own,  chiefly 
professing  to  advance  the  health,  and  improve  the  intellects  at  the 
same  time.  These  are  usually  found  to  begin  with  finding  nothing 
right  in  the  common  practice,  and  by  urging  a  total  reformation.  lu 
consequence  of  this,  nothing  can  be  more  wild  or  imaginary  than  their 
various  systems  of  improvement.  Some  will  have  the  children  every 
day  plunged  in  cold  water,  in  order  to  strengthen  their  bodies  ;  they 
will  have  them  converse  with  the  servants  in  nothing  but  the  Latin 
language,  in  order  to  strengthen  their  minds  ;  every  hour  of  the  day 
must  be  appointed  for  its  own  studies,  and  the  child  must  learn  to  make 
these  very  studies  an  amusement ;  till  about  the  age  of  ten  or  eleven 
it  becomes  a  prodigy  of  premature  improvement.  Quite  opposite  to 
this,  we  have  others,  whom  the  courtesy  of  mankind  also  culls  philoio- 
pliers  -  and  they  will  have  the  child  learn  nothing  till  the  age  •  f  tr.fl 


ANIMALS  185 

or  eleven,  at  which  the  former  has  attained  so  much  perfection ;  with 
them  the  mind  is  to  be  kept  empty,  until  it  has  a  proper  distinction 
of  some  metaphysical  ideas  about  truth,  and  the  promising  pupil  is 
debarred  the  use  of  even  his  own  faculties,  lest  they  should  conduct 
him  into  prejudice  and  error.  In  this  manner  some  men  whom  fashion 
has  celebrated  for  profound  and  fine  thinkers,  have  given  their  hazarded 
and  untried  conjectures,  upon  one  of  the  most  important  subjects  in 
the  world,  and  the  most  interesting  to  humanity.  When  men  specu- 
late at  liberty  upon  innate  ideas,  or  the  abstracted  distinctions  between 
will  and  power,  they  may  be  permitted  to  enjoy  their  systems  at  plea- 
sure, as  they  are  harmless,  although  they  may  be  wrong  ;  but  when 
they  allege  that  children  are  to  be  every  day  plunged  in  cold  water, 
and,  whatever  be  their  constitutions,  indiscriminately  inured  to  cold 
and  moisture ;  that  they  are  to  be  kept  wet  in  the  feet,  to  prevent 
their  catching  cold  ;  and  never  to  be  corrected  when  young,  for  fear 
of  breaking  their  spirits  when  old  ;  these  are  such  noxious  errors,  that 
all  reasonable  men  should  endeavour  to  oppose  them.  Many  have 
been  the  children  whom  these  opinions,  begun  in  speculation,  have 
injured  or  destroyed  in  practice  ;  and  I  have  seen  many  a  little  phi- 
losophical martyr,  whom  I  wished,  but  was  unable  to  relieve. 

If  any  system  be  therefore  necessary,  it  is  one  that  would  serve  to 
show  a  very  plain  point ;  that  very  little  system  is  necessary.  The 
natural  and  common  course  of  education  is  in  every  respect  the  best : 
I  mean  that  in  which  the  child  is  permitted  to  play  among  its  little 
equals,  from  whose  similar  instructions  it  often  gains  the  most  useful 
stores  of  knowledge.  A  child  is  not  idle  because  it  is  playing  about 
the  fields,  or  pursuing  a  butterfly  ;  it  is  all  this  time  storing  its  mind 
with  objects  upon  the  nature,  the  properties,  and  the  relations  of  which 
future  curiosity  may  speculate. 

I  have  ever  found  it  a  vain  task  to  try  to  make  a  child's  learning  its 
amusement ;  nor  do  I  see  what  good-  end  it  would  answer  were  it 
actually  attained.  The  child,  as  was  said,  ought  to  have  its  share  of 
play,  and  it  will  be  benefited  thereby ;  and  for  every  reason  also  it 
ought  to  have  its  share  of  labour.  The  mind,  by  early  labour,  will  be 
thus  accustomed  to  fatigues  and  subordination  ;  and  whatever  be  the 
person's  future  employment  in  life,  he  will  be  better  fitted  to  endure 
it :  he  will  be  thus  enabled  to  support  the  drudgeries  of  office  with 
content ;  or  to  fill  up  the  vacancies  of  life  with  variety.  The  child, 
therefore,  should  by  times  be  put  to  its  duty  ;  and  be  taught  to  know, 
that  the  task  is  to  be  done,  or  the  punishment  to  be  endured.  I  do 
not  object  against  alluring  it  to  duty  by  reward  ;  but  we  well  know 
that  the  mind  will  become  more  strongly  stimulated  by  pain  ;  and  both 
may,  upon  some  occasions,  take  their  turn  to  operate.  In  this  man- 
ner, a  child,  by  playing  with  its  equals  abroad,  and  labouring  with 
them  at  school,  will  acquire  more  health  and  knowledge,  than  by  be* 
\ng  bred  up  under  the  wing  of  any  speculative  system-maker  ;  and  will 
he  thus  qualified  for  a  life  of  activity  and  obedience.  It  is  true  indeed, 
that  when  educated  in  this  manner,  the  boy  may  not  be  so  seemingly 
sensible  and  forward  as  one  bred  up  under  solitary  instruction  ;  and, 
perhaps,  this  early  forwardness  is  more  engaging  than  useful.  It  is 
.veil  known  that  many  of  those  children  who  have  been  such  urod- 


186  A  HISTORY  OF 

gies  of  literature  before  ten,  have  not  made  an  adequate  progress  to 
twenty.  It  should  seem  that  they  only  began  learning  manly  things 
before  their  time  ;  and,  while  others  were  busied  in  picking  up  that 
knowledge  adapted  to  their  age  and  curiosity,  these  were  forced  upon 
subjects  unsuited  to  their  years  :  and,  upon  that  account  alone,  appeal- 
ing extraordinary.  The  stock  of  knowledge  in  both  may  be  equal  , 
but  with  this  difference,  that  each  is  yet  to  learn  what  the  other 
knows. 

But  whatever  may  have  been  the  acquisitions  of  children  at  ten  or 
twelve,  their  greatest  and  most  rapid  progress  is  made  when  they  ar- 
rive near  the  age  of  puberty.  It  is  then  that  all  the  powers  of  nature 
seem  at  work  in  strengthening  the  mind  and  completing  the  body  ;  the 
youth  acquires  courage,  and  the  virgin  modesty  ;  the  mind,  with  new 
sensations,  assumes  new  powers ;  it  conceives  with  greater  force,  and 
remembers  with  greater  tenacity.  About  this  time,  therefore,  which 
is  various  in  different  countries,  more  is  learned  in  one  year  than  in 
any  two  of  the  preceding ;  and  on  thrs  age  in  particular,  the  greatest 
weight  of  instruction  ought  to  be  thrown. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OF  PUBERTY. 

IT  has  been  often  said,  that  the  season  of  youth  is  the  season  oi 
pleasures :  but  this  can  only  be  true  in  savage  countries,  where  but 
little  preparation  is  made  for  the  perfection  of  human  nature,  and 
where  the  mind  has  but  a  very  small  part  in  the  enjoyment.  It  is 
otherwise  in  those  places  where  nature  is  carried  to  the  highest  pitch 
of  refinement,  in  which  this  season  of  the  greatest  sensual  delight  is 
wisely  made  subservient  to  the  succeeding,  and  more  rational  one  of 
manhood.  Youth,  with  us,  is  but  a  scene  of  preparation  ;  a  drama, 
upon  the  right  conduct  of  which  all  future  happiness  is  to  depend. 
The  youth  who  follows  his  appetites,  too  soon  seizes  the  cup,  before 
it  has  received  its  best  ingredients  ;  and,  by  anticipating  his  pleasures, 
robs  the  remaining  parts  of  life  of  their  share ;  so  that  his  eagerness 
only  produces  a  manhood  of  imbecility,  and  an  age  of  pain. 

The  time  of  puberty  is  different  in  various  countries,  and  ahv;ty.s 
moie  late  in  men  than  in  women.  In  the  warm  countries  of  India,  the 
women  are  marriageable  at  nine  or  ten,  and  the  men  at  twelve  or  thir- 
teen. It  is  also  different  in  cities,  where  the  inhabitants  lead  a  more 
soft,  luxurious  life,  from  the  country,  where  they  work  harder,  and 
fare  less  delicately.  Its  symptoms  are  seldom  alike  in  different  per- 
sons ;  but  it  is  usually  known  by  a  swelling  of  the  breasts  in  one  sex, 
and  a  roughness  of  the  voice  in  the  other.  At  this  season,  also,  the 
women  seem  to  acquire  new  beauty,  while  the  men  lose  all  that  deli- 
rate  effeminacy  of  countenance  which  they  had  when  boys. 

All  countries,  in  proportion  as  they  are  civilized  or  barbarous,  im- 
prove or  degrade  the  nuptial  satisfaction.  In  those  miserable  regions, 
where  strength  makes  the  only  law,  the  stronger  sex  exerts  its  power, 


ANIMALS.  187 

and  becomes  the  tyrant  over  the  weaker  :  while  the  inhabitant  of  Ne 
groland  is  indolently  taking  his  pleasure  in  the  fields,  his  wife  is  obliged 
to  till  the  grounds  that  serve  for  their  mutual  support.  It  is  thus  in  all 
barbarous  countries,  where  the  men  throw  all  the  laborious  duties  of 
life  upon  the  women  ;  and,  regardless  of  beauty,  put  the  softer  sex  to 
those  employments  that  must  effectually  destroy  it. 

But  in  countries  that  are  half  barbarous,  particularly  wherever  Ma« 
hometanism  prevails,  the  men  run  into  the  very  opposite  extreme 
Equally  brutal  with  the  former,  they  exert  their  tyranny  over  the 
weaker  sex,  and  consider  that  half  of  the  human  creation  as  merely 
made  to  be  subservient  to  the  depraved  desires  of  the  other.  The 
chief,  and  indeed  the  only  aim  of  an  Asiatic,  is  to  be  possessed  of  many 
women ;  and  to  be  able  to  furnish  a  seraglio  is  the  only  tendency  of 
his  ambition.  As  the  savage  was  totally  regardless  of  beauty,  he,  on 
the  contrary,  prizes  it  too  highly ;  he  excludes  the  person  who  is  pos- 
sessed of  such  personal  attractions  from  any  share  in  the  duties  or  em- 
ployments of  life ;  and,  as  if  willing  to  engross  all  beauty  to  himself, 
increases  the  number  of  his  captives  in  proportion  to  the  progress  of 
his  fortune.  In  this  manner  he  vainly  expects  to  augment  his  satisfac- 
tions, by  seeking  from  many  that  happiness  which  he  ought  to  look 
for  in  the  society  of  one  alone.  He  lives  a  gloomy  tyrant,  amidst 
wretches  of  his  own  making ;  he  feels  none  of  those  endearments 
which  spring  from  affection,  none  of  those  delicacies  which  arise  from 
knowledge.  His  mistresses,  being  shut  o-it  from  the  world,  and  total- 
ly ignorant  of  all  that  passes  there,  have  no  arts  to  entertain  his  mind, 
or  calm  his  anxieties ;  the  day  passes  with  them  in  sullen  silence,  or 
languid  repose  ;  appetite  can  furnish  but  few  opportunities  of  varying 
the  scene :  and  all  that  falls  beyond  it  must  be  irksome  expectation. 

From  this  avarice  of  women,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  express  it  so, 
has  proceeded  that  jealousy  and  suspicion  which  ever  attends  the  mi- 
ser :  hence  those  low  and  barbarous  methods  of  keeping  the  women 
of  those  countries  guarded,  and  of  making  and  procuring  eunuchs  to 
attend  them.  These  unhappy  creatures  are  of  two  kinds,  the  white 
and  the  black.  The  white  are  generally  made  in  the  country  where 
they  reside,  being  but  partly  deprived  of  the  marks  of  virility ;  the 
black  are  generally  brought  from  the  interior  parts  of  Africa,  and  are 
made  entirely  bare.  These  are  chiefly  chosen  for  their  deformity  ; 
the  thicker  the  lips,  the  flatter  the  nose,  and  the  more  black  the  teeth, 
the  more  valuable  the  eunuch  ;  so  that  the  vile  jealousy  of  mankind 
here  inverts  the  order  of  nature,  and  the  poor  wretch  finds  himseli 
valued  in  proportion  to  his  deficiencies.  In  Italy,  where  this  barba- 
rous custom  is  still  retained,  and  eunuchs  are  made  in  order  to  improve 
the  voice,  the  laws  are  severely  aimed  against  such  practice  ;  so  that 
being  entirely  prohibited,  none  but  the  poorest  and  most  abandoned 
of  the  people  still  secretly  practise  it  upon  their  children.  Of  those 
served  in  this  manner,  not  one  in  ten  is  found  to  become  a  singer  ; 
but  such  is  the  luxurious  folly  of  the  times,  that  the  success  of  one 
amply  compensates  for  the  failure  of  the  rest.  It  is  very  difficult  to 
account  for  the  alterations  which  castration  makes  in  the  voice,  and 
thfi  other  narts  of  the  body.  The  eunuch  is  shaped  differently  from 
otheis.  His  legs  are  of  an  equal  thickness  above  ar<i  below  ;  his 


188  A  HISTORY  OF 

knees  weak ;  his  shoulders  narrow ;  and  his  beard  thin  and  downy. 
In  this  manner  his  person  is  rendered  more  deformed  ;  but  his  desires, 
as  I  am  told,  still  continue  the  same ;  and  actually,  in  Asia,  some  of 
them  are  found  to  have  their  seraglios,  as  well  as  their  masters.  Even 
in  our  country,  we  have  an  instance  of  a  very  fine  woman's  being 
married  to  one  of  them,  whose  appearance  was  the  most  unpromising; 
and  what  is  more  extraordinary  still,  I  am  told,  that  this  couple  con- 
tinue perfectly  happy  in  each  other's  society. 

The  mere  necessities  of  life  seem  the  only  aim  of  the  savage ;  the 
sensual  pleasures  are  the  only  study  of  the  semi-barbarian ;  but  the 
refinement  of  sensuality,  by  reason,  is  the  boast  of  real  politeness. 
Among  the  merely  barbarous  nations,  such  as  the  natives  of  Madagas- 
car, or  the  inhabitants  of  Congo,  nothing  is  desired  so  ardently  as  to 
prostitute  their  wives  or  daughters  to  strangers,  for  the  most  trifling 
advantages ;  they  will  account  it  a  dishonour  not  to  be  among  the 
foremost  who  are  thus  received  into  favour  :  on  the  other  hand,  the 
Mahometan  keeps  his  wife  faithful  by  confining  her  person,  and  would 
instantly  put  her  to  death  if  he  but  suspected  her  chastity.  With  the 
politer  inhabitants  of  Europe,  both  these  barbarous  extremes  are  avoid- 
ed ;  the  woman's  person  is  left  free,  and  no  constraint  is  imposed 
but  upon  her  affections.  The  passion  of  love,  which  may  be  consid- 
ered as  the  nice  conduct  of  ruder  desire,  is  only  known  and  practised 
in  this  part  of  the  world  ;  so  that  what  other  nations  guard  as  their 
right,  the  more  delicate  European  is  contented  to  ask  as  a  favour.  In 
this  manner  the  concurrence  of  mutual  appetite  contributes  to  increase 
mutual  satisfaction ;  and  the  power  on  one  side  of  refusing,  makes 
every  blessing  more  grateful  when  obtained  by  the  other.  In  barba- 
rous countries,  woman  is  considered  merely  as  a  useful  slave ;  in  such 
as  are  somewhat  more  refined,  she  is  regarded  as  a  desirable  toy ;  in 
countries  entirely  polished,  she  enjoys  juster  privileges ;  the  wife  be- 
ing considered  as  a  useful  friend,  and  an  agreeable  mistress.  Her  mind 
is  still  more  prized  than  her  person  ;  and  without  the  improvement  of 
both,  she  can  never  expect  to  become  truly  agreeable  ;  for  her  good 
sense  alone  can  preserve  what  she  has  gained  by  her  beauty. 

Female  beauty,  as  was  said,  is  always  seen  to  improve  about  the 
age  of  puberty  ;  but  if  we  should  attempt  to  define  in  what  this  beau 
ty  consists,  or  what  constitutes  its  perfection,  we  should  find  nothing 
more  difficult  to  determine.  Every  country  has  its  peculiar  way  of 
thinking,  in  this  respect ;  and  even  the  same  country  thinks  differently 
at  different  times.  The  ancients  had  a  very  different  taste  from  what 
prevails  at  present.  The  eye-brows  joining  in  the  middle  was  con- 
sidered as  a  very  peculiar  grace  by  Tibullus,  in  the  enumeration  of 
the  charms  of  his  mistress.  Narrow  foreheads  were  approved  of,  and 
scarce  any  of  the  Roman  ladies  that  are  celebrated  for  their  other 
perfections,  but  are  also  praised  for  the  redness  of  their  hair.  The 
nose  also  of  the  Grecian  Venus  was  such  as  would  appear  at  present 
an  actual  deformity,  as  it  fell  in  a  straight  line  from  the  forehead,  w»th 
out  the  smallest  sinking  between  the  eyes,  without  which  we  never  ««n 
»  face  at  present 


ANIMALS.  189 

Among  the  moderns,  every  country  seems  to  have  peculiar  ideas  of 
beauty.*  The  Persians  admire  large  eye-brows,  joining  in  the  middle  ; 
the  edges  and  corners  of  the  eyes  are  tinctured  with  black,  and  the 
size  of  the  head  is  increased  by  a  great  variety  of  bandages  formed  in- 
to a  turban.  In  some  parts  of  India,  black  teeth  and  white  hair  are 
desired  with  ardour;  and  one  of  the  principal  employments  of  the 
women  of  Thibet,  is  to  redden  the  teeth  with  herbs,  and  to  make  theii 
hair  white  by  a  certain  preparation.  The  passion  for  coloured  teeth 
obtains  also  in  China  and  Japan  ;  where  to  complete  their  idea  of 
beauty,  the  object  of  desire  must  have  little  eyes,  nearly  closed,  feet 
extremely  small,  and  a  waist  far  from  being  shapely.  There  are  some 
nations  of  the  American  Indians  that  flatten  the  heads  of  their  chil- 
dren, by  keeping  them,  while  young,  squeezed  between  two  boards, 
so  as  to  make  the  visage  much  larger  than  it  would  naturally  be. 
Others  flatten  the  head  at  top ;  and  others  make  it  as  round  as  they 
possibly  can.  The  inhabitants  along  the  western  coasts  of  Africa 
have  a  very  extraordinary  taste  for  beauty.  A  flat  nose,  thick  lips, 
and  jet-black  complexion,  are  there  the  most  indulgent  gifts  of  nature. 
Such,  indeed,  they  are  all,  in  some  degree,  found  to  possess.  How- 
ever, they  take  care,  by  art,  to  increase  their  natural  deformities,  as 
they  should  seem  to  us ;  and  they  have  many  additional  methods  of 
rendering  their  persons  still  more  frightfully  pleasing.  The  whoje 
body  and  visage  is  often  scarred  with  a  variety  of  monstrous  figures  ; 
which  is  not  done  without  great  pain,  and  repeated  incision  :  and  even 
sometimes  parts  of  the  body  are  cut  away.  But  it  would  be  endless  to 
remark  the  various  arts  which  caprice  or  custom  has  employed  to  dis- 
tort and  disfigure  the  body,  in  order  to  render  it  more  pleasing ;  in 
fact,  every  nation,  how  barbarous  soever,  seems  unsatisfied  with  the 
human  figure,  as  nature  has  left  it,  and  has  its  peculiar  arts  of  height- 
ening beauty.  Painting,  powdering,  cutting,  boring  the  nose  and  the 
ears,  lengthening  the  one,  and  depressing  the  other,  are  arts  practised 
in  many  countries ;  and,  in  some  degree,  admired  in  all.  These  arts 
might  have  been  at  first  introduced  to  hide  epidemic  deformities  ; 
custom,  by  degrees,  reconciles  them  to  the  view ;  till,  from  looking 
upon  them  with  indifference,  the  eye  at  length  begins  to  gaze  with 
pleasure. 


CHAPTER  V 

OP  THE  AGE  OP  MANHOOD  t 

THE  human  body  attains  to  its  full  height  during  the  age  of  puber 
ty ;  or,  at  least,  a  short  time  after.  Some  young  people  are  found  to 
cease  growing  at  fourteen  or  fifteen  ;  others  continue  their  growth  til) 
two  or  three  and  twenty.  During  this  period  they  are  all  of  a  slendei 

«  Buffon. 

t  This  chapter  is  translated  from  Mr.  Buffon,  whose  description  is  very  excellem.- 
Whatever  I  have  added,  is  marked  by  inverted  commas.    "  thus."    And  hi  whawv* 
trifling  points  I  have  differed,  the  notes  will  serve  to  show 


190  A  HISTORY  OF 

make ;  their  thighs  and  legs  small,  and  the  muscular  parts  are  yet  un- 
filled. But,  by  degrees,  the  fleshy  fibres  augment ;  the  muscles  swell, 
and  assume  their  figure  ;  the  limbs  become  proportioned  and  rounder; 
and  before  the  age  of  thirty,  the  body  in  men,  has  acquired  the  most  per- 
fect symmetry.  Jn  women,  the  body  arrives  at  perfection  much  sooner, 
as  they  arrive  at  the  age  of  maturity  more  early  ;  the  muscles,  and  all 
the  other  parts  being  weaker,  less  compact  and  solid,  than  those  of 
man,  they  require  less  time  in  coming  to  perfection  ;  and,  as  they  are 
less  in  size,  that  size  is  sooner  completed.  Hence  the  persons  of 
women  are  found  to  be  as  complete  at  twenty,  as  those  of  men  are 
found  to  be  at  thirty. 

The  body  of  a  well-shaped  man  ought  to  be  square ;  the  muscles 
should  be  expressed  with  boldness,  and  the  lines  of  the  face  strongly 
marked.  In  the  woman,  all  the  muscles  should  be  rounder,  the  lines 
softer,  and  the  features  more  delicate.  Strength  and  majesty  belong 
to  the  man  ;  grace  and  softness  are  the  peculiar  embellishments  of  the 
other  sex.  In  both,  every  part  of  their  form  declares  their  sovereignty 
over  other  creatures.  Man  supports  his  body  erect ;  his  attitude  is 
that  of  command  :  and  his  face,  which  is  turned  towards  the  heavens, 
displays  the  dignity  of  his  station.  The  image  of  his  soul  is  painted 
in  his  visage ;  and  the  excellence  of  his  nature  penetrates  through  the 
material  form  in  which  it  is  inclosed.  His  majestic  port,  his  sedate 
and  resolute  step,  announce  the  nobleness  of  his  rank.  He  touches 
the  earth  only  with  his  extremity;  and  beholds  it  as  if  at  a  disdainfu. 
distance.  His  arms  are  not  given  him,  as  to  other  creatures,  for  pil- 
lars of  support ;  nor  does  he  lose,  by  rendering  them  callous  against 
the  ground,  that  delicacy  of  touch  which  furnishes  him  with  so  many 
of  his  enjoyments.  His  hands  are  made  for  very  different  purposes  • 
to  second  every  intention  of  his  will,  and  to  perfect  the  gifts  of  Na- 
ture. 

When  the  soul  is  at  rest,  all  the  features  of  the  visage  seem  settled 
in  a  state  of  profound  tranquillity.  Their  proportion,  their  union,  and 
their  harmony,  seem  to  mark  the  sweet  serenity  of  the  mind,  and  give 
a  true  information  of  what  passes  within.  But  when  the  soul  is  ex- 
cited, the  human  visage  becomes  a  living  picture  ;  -where  the  passions 
are  expressed  with  as  much  delicacy  as  energy,  where  every  motion 
is  designed  by  some  correspondent  feature,  where  every  impression 
anticipates  the  will,  and  betrays  those  hidden  agitations,  that  he  would 
often  wish  to  conceal. 

It  is  particularly  in  the  eyes  that  the  passions  are  painted ;  and  in 
which  we  may  most  readily  discover  their  beginning.  The  eye  seems 
to  belong  to  the  soul  more  than  any  other  organ  ;  it  seems  to  participate 
of  all  its  emotions  ;  as  well  the  most  soft  and  tender,  as  the  most  tumul- 
tuous and  forceful.  It  not  only  receives,  but  transmits  them  by  sym- 
patny  ;  the  observing  eye  of  one  catches  the  secret  fire  from  another : 
and  the  passion  thus  often  becomes  general. 

Such  persons  as  are  short-sighted  labour  under  a  particular  disad- 
vantage in  this  respect.  They  are,  in  a  manner,  entirely  cut  off  from 
tlit,  language  of  the  eyes  ;  and  this  gives  an  air  of  stupidity  to  the 
face,  which  often  produces  very  unfavourable  prepossessions.  How- 
m-or  intelligent  we  find  such  persons  to  be,  we  can  scarcely  be  oronght 


ANIMALS.  191 

back  from  our  first  prejudice,  and  often  continue  in  the  first  erroneous 
opinion.  In  this  manner  we  are  too  much  induced  to  judge  of  men 
by  their  physiognomy ;  and  having,  perhaps,  at  first,  caught  up  our 
judgments  prematurely,  they  mechanically  influence  us  all  our  lives 
after.  This  extends  even  to  the  very  colour  or  the  cut  of  people's 
clothes  ;  and  we  should  for  this  reason  be  careful,  even  in  such  trifling 
particulars,  since  they  go  to  make  up  a  part  of  the  total  judgment 
which  those  we  converse  with  may  form  to  our  advantage. 

The  vivacity,  or  the  languid  motion  of  the  eyes,  gives  the  strongest 
marks  to  physiognomy ;  and  their  colour  contributes  still  more  to  en- 
force the  expression.  The  different  colours  of  the  eye  are  the  dark 
hazle,  the  light  hazle,  the  green,  the  blue  and  grey,  the  whitish  grey, 
"  and  also  the  red."  These  different  colours  arise  from  the  different 
colours  of  the  little  muscles  that  serve  to  contract  the  papil ;  "  and 
they  are  very  often  found  to  change  colour  with  disorder  and  with  age." 

The  most  ordinary  colours  are  the  hazle  and  the  blue,  and  very 
often  both  these  colours  are  found  in  the  eyes  of  the  same  person 
Those  eyes  which  are  called  black,  are  only  of  the  dark  hazle,  which 
may  be  easily  seen  upon  closer  inspection  ;  however,  those  eyes  are 
reckoned  the  most  beautiful  where  the  shade  is  the  deepest :  and 
either  in  these,  or  the  blue  eyes,  the  fire,  which  gives  its  finest  ex- 
pression to  the  eye,  is  more  distinguishable  in  proportion  to  the  dark- 
ness of  the  tint.  For  this  reason,  the  black  eyes,  as  they  are  called, 
have  the  greatest  vivacity  ;  but,  probably,  the  blue  have  the  most 
powerful  effect  in  beauty,  as  they  reflect  a  greater  variety  of  lights, 
being  composed  of  more  various  colours. 

This  variety,  which  is  found  in  the  colour  of  the  eyes,  is  peculiar 
to  man,  and  one  or  two  other  kinds  of  animals :  but,  in  general,  the 
colour  in  any  one  individual  is  the  same  in  all  the  rest.  The  eves  of 
oxen  are  brown  ;  those  of  sheep  of  a  water  colour ;  those  of  goats 
are  gray ;  "  and  it  may  also  be,  in  general,  remarked,  that  the  eyes 
of  most  white  animals  are  red ;  thus  the  rabbit,  the  ferret,  and,  even 
in  the  human  race,  the  white  Moor,  all  have  their  eyes  of  a  red  co- 
lour." 

Althdugh  the  eye,  when  put  into  motion,  seems  to  be  drawn  on  one 
side,  yet  it  only  moves  round  the  centre ;  by  which  its  coloured  part 
moves  nearer,  or  farther  from  the  angle  of  the  eye-lids,  or  is  elevated 
or  depressed.  The  distance  between  the  eyes  is  less  in  man  than  in 
any  other  animal ;  and  in  some  of  them  it  is  so  great,  that  it  is  iin 
possible  that  they  should  ever  view  the  same  object  with  both  eyes  at 
once,  unless  it  be  very  far  off.  "  This,  however,  in  them  is  rather  an 
advantage  than  an  inconvenience,  as  they  are  thus  able  to  watch  round 
them,  and  guard  against  the  dangers  of  their  precarious  situation." 

Next  to  the  eyes,  the  features  which  most  give  a. character  to  the 
face,  are  the  eye-brows,  which  being,  in  some  measure,  more  appa- 
rent than  the  other  features,  are  most  readily  distinguished  at  a  dis- 
tance. "  Le  Brun,  in  giving  a  painter  directions  with  regard  to  the 
passions,  places  the  principal  expression  of  the  face  in  the  eye-brows." 
Prom  their  elevation  and  depression,  most  of  the  furious  passions  are 
characterized  ;  and  such  as  have  this  feature  extremely  moveable,  are 
usually  known  to  have  an  expressive  face.  By  means  of  these  we  can 


192  A  HISTORY  OF 

imitate  all  the  other  passions,  as  they  are  raised  and  depressed,  at 
command  ;  the  rest  of  the  features  are  generally  fixed ;  or,  when  pu< 
into  motion,  they  do  not  obey  the  will ;  the  mouth  and  eyes,  in  an 
actor,  for  instance,  may,  by  being  violently  distorted,  give  a  very  dif 
ferent  expression  from  what  he  would  intend  ;  bat  the  eye-brows  can 
scarcely  be  exerted  improperly ;  their  being  raised,  denotes  all  those 
passions  which  pride  or  pleasure  inspire  ;  and  their  depression  marks 
those  which  are  the  effects  of  contemplation  and  pain  ;  and  such  who 
have  this  feature,  therefore,  most  at  command,  are  often  found  to  ex 
eel  as  actors."  ^  > 

The  eye-lashes  have  an  effect,  in  giving  expression  to  the  eye,  par- 
ticularly when  long  and  close  ;  they  soften  its  glances,  and  improve 
its  sweetness.  Man  and  apes  are  the  only  animals  that  have  eye- 
lashes both  upon  the  upper  and  lower  lids  ;  all  other  animals  want 
them  on  the  lid  below. 

The  eye-lids  serve  to  guard  the  ball  of  the  eye,  and  to  furnish  it 
with  a  proper  moisture.  The  upper  lid  rises  and  falls  ;  the  lower  has 
scarce  any  motion  ;  and  although  their  being  moved  depends  on  the 
will,  yet  it  often  happens  that  the  will  is  unable  to  keep  them  open, 
when  sleep  or  fatigue  oppresses  the  mind.  In  birds,  and  amphibious 
quadrupeds,  the  lower  lid  alone  has  motion  ;  fishes  and  insects  have 
no  eye-lids  whatever. 

The  forehead  makes  a  large  part  of  the  face,  and  a  part  which 
chiefly  contributes  to  its  beauty.  It  ought  to  be  justly  proportioned  ; 
neither  too  round  nor  too  flat ;  neither  too  narrow  nor  too  low ;  and 
the  hair  should  come  thick  upon  its  extremities.  It  is  known  to  every 
body  how  much  the  hair  tends  to  improve  the  face  ;  and  how  much 
the  being  bald  serves  to  take  away  from  beauty.  The  highest  part  of 
the  head  is  that  which  becomes  bald  the  soonest,  as  well  as  that  part 
which  lies  immediately  above  the  temples.  The  hair  under  the  tem- 
ples, and  at  the  back  of  the  head,  is  very  seldom  known  to  fail,  "  and 
women  are  much  less  apt  to  become  bald  than  men  ;"  Mr.  Buffon 
seems  to  think  they  never  become  bald  at  all  ;  but  we  have  too  many 
instances  of  the  contrary  among  us,  not  to  contradict  very  easily  the 
assertion.  Of  all  parts  or  appendages  of  the  body,  the  hair  is  that 
which  is  found  most  different  in  different  climates  ;  and  often  not  only 
contributes  to  mark  the  country,  but  also  the  disposition  of  the  man. 
It  is  in  general  thickest  where  the  constitution  is  strongest ;  and  more 
glossy  and  beautiful  where  the  health  is  most  permanent.  The  ancients 
held  the  hair  to  be  a  sort  of  excrement,  produced  like  the  nails ;  the 
part  next  the  root  pushing  out  that  immediately  contiguous.  But  the 
moderns  have  found  that  every  hair  may  be  truly  said  to  live,  to  re- 
ceive nutriment,  to  fill  and  distend  itself  like  the  other  parts  of  the 
body.  The  roots,  they  observe,  do  not  turn  gray  sooner  than  the 
extremities,  but  the  whole  hair  changes  colour  at  once  ;  and  we  have 
many  instances  of  persons  who  have  grown  gray  in  one  night's  time.* 
Each  nair,  if  viewed  with  a  microscope,  is  found  to  consist  of  five  or 
MX  lesser  ones,  all  wrapped  up  in  one  common  covering ;  it  appears 

»  Mr  Buffon  says,  that  the  hair  begins  lo  giow  ^ray  at  the  points,  but  the  fact  Is  othei 


ANIMALS.  193 

knotted,  like  some  sorts  of  grass,  and  sends  forth  branches  at  the 
joints.  It  is  bulbous  at  the  root,  by  which  it  imbibes  its  moisture  from 
the  body,  and  it  is  split  at  the  points ;  so  that  a  single  hair,  at  its  end 
resembles  a  brush.  Whatever  be  the  size,  or  the  shape  of  the  poro, 
through  which  the  hair  issues,  it  accommodates  itself  to  the  same  ;  be- 
ing either  thick,  as  they  are  large;  small,  as  they  are  less;  rounn, 
triangular,  and  variously  formed,  as  the  pores  happen  to  be  various. 
The  hair  takes  its  colour  from  the  juices  flowing  through  it,  and  it  is 
found  that  this  colour  differs  in  different  tribes  and  races  of  people 
The  Americans,  and  the  Asiatics,  have  their  hair  black,  thick,  straight, 
and  shining.  The  inhabitants  of  the  torrid  climates  of  Africa  have  it 
black,  short,  and  woolly.  The  people  of  Scandinavia  have  it  red> 
long,  and  curled  ;  and  those  of  our  own,  and  the  neighbouring  coun- 
'  tries,  are  found  with  hair  of  various  colours.  However,  it  is  supposed 
by  many,  that  every  man  resembles  in  his  disposition  the  inhabitants 
of  those  countries  whom  he  resembles  in  the  colour  and  the  nature  of 
his  hair ;  so  that  the  black  are  said,  like  the  Asiatics,  to  be  grave  and 
acute  ;  the  red,  like  the  Gothic  nations,  to  be  choleric  and  bold. 
However  this  may  be,  the  length  and  the  strength  of  the  hair  is  a 
general  mark  of  a  good  constitution  ;  and  as  that  hair  which  is  strongest 
is  most  commonly  curled,  so  curled  hair  is  generally  regarded  among 
us  as  a  beauty.  The  Greeks,  however,  had  a  very  different  idea  of 
beauty  in  this  respect ;  and  seem  to  have  taken  one  of  their  peculiar 
national  distinctions  from  the  length  and  the  straightness  of  the  hair. 

The  nose  is  the  most  prominent  feature  in  the  face ;  but,  as  it  has 
scarce  any  motion,  and  that  only  in  the  strongest  passions,  it  rather 
adds  to  the  beauty  than  to  the  expression  of  the  countenance.  "  How- 
ever, I  am  told  by  the  skilful  in  this  branch  of  knowledge,  that  wide 
nostrils  add  a  great  deal  to  the  bold  and  resolute  air  of  the  counte- 
nance ;  and  where  they  are  narrow,  though  it  may  constitute  beauty, 
it  seldom  improves  expression."  The  form  of  the  nose,  and  its  ad- 
vanced position,  are  peculiar  to  the  human  visage  alone.  Other  ani- 
mals, for  the  most  part,  have  nostrils,  with  a  partition  between  them  : 
but  none  of  them  have  an  elevated  nose.  Apes  themselves  have  scarce 
any  thing  else  of  this  feature,  but  the  nostrils ;  the  rest  of  the  feature 
lying  flat  upon  the  visage,  and  scarce  higher  than  the  cheek-bones. 
*•'  Among  all  the  tribes  of  savage  men  also,  the  nose  is  very  flat ;  and 
I  have  seen  a  Tartar  who  had  scarce  any  thing  else  but  two  holes 
through  which  to  breathe." 

The  mouth  and  lips,  next  to  the  eyes,  are  found  to  have  the  great- 
est expression.  The  passions  have  great  power  over  this  part  of  the 
face  ;  and  the  mouth  marks  its  different  degrees  by  its  different  forms. 
The  organ  of  speech  still  more  animates  this  part,  and  gives  it  more 
life  than  any  other  feature  in  the  countenance.  The  ruby  colour  of 
the  lips,  and  the  white  enamel  of  the  teeth,  give  it  such  a  superiority 
over  every  other  feature,  that  it  seems  to  make  the  principal  object  of 
our  regard.  In  fact,  the  whole  attention  is  fixed  upon  the  lips  of  the 
speaker  ;  however  rapid  his  discourse,  however  various  the  subject,  the 
mouth  takes  correspondent  situations  ;  and  deaf  men  have  been  often 
found  to  see  the  force  of  those  reasonings  which  they  could  not  hear 
understanding  every  word  as  it  was  spoken. 
VOL.  i.  N 


194  A  HISTORY  OF 

"  The  under  jaw  in  man  possesses  a  great  variety  of  motions  ;  while 
the  upper  has  been  thought  by  many  to  be  quite  immoveable.*  How- 
ever, that  it  moves  in  man,  a  very  easy  experiment  will  suffice  to  con- 
vince us.  If  we  keep  the  head  fixed,  with  any  thing  between  our  teeth, 
the  edge  of  a  table,  for  instance,  and  then  open  our  mouths,  we  shall 
find  that  both  jaws  recede  from  it  at  the  same  time ;  the  upper  jaw 
rises,  and  the  lower  falls,  and  the  table  remains  untouched  between 
them.  The  upper  jaw  has  motion  as  well  as  the  under  ;  and,  what  is 
remarkable,  it  has  its  proper  muscles  behind  the  head  for  thus  raising 
and  depressing  it.  Whenever,  therefore,  we  eat,  both  jaws  move  at 
the  same  time,  though  very  unequally  ;  for  the  whole  head  moving 
with  the  upper  jaw,  of  which  it  makes  a  part,  its  motions  are  thus 
less  observable."  In  the  human  embryo,  the  under  jaw  is  very  much 
advanced  before  the  upper.  "  In  the  adult,  it  hangs  a  good  deal  more 
backward  ;  and  those  whose  upper  and  under  row  of  teeth  are  equally 
prominent,  and  strike  directly  against  each  other,  are  what  the  pain- 
ters call  under-hung  ;  and  they  consider  this  as  a  great  defect  in  beau- 
ty .t  The  under  jaw  in  a  Chinese  face  falls  greatly  more  backward 
than  with  us ;  and,  I  am  told,  the  difference  is  half  an  inch,  when  the 
mouth  is  shut  naturally."  In  instances  of  the  most  violent  passion, 
the  under  jaw  has  often  an  involuntary  quivering  motion  ;  and  often 
also,  a  state  of  languor  produces  another,  which  is  that  of  yawning. 
"  Every  one  knows  how  very  sympathetic  this  kind  of  languid  mo- 
tion  is :  and  that  for  one  person  to  yawn,  is  sufficient  to  set  all  the 
rest  of  the  company  a  yawning.  A  ridiculous  instance  of  this  was 
commonly  practised  upon  the  famous  M'Laurin,  one  of  the  professors 
at  Edinburgh.  He  was  very  subject  to  have  his  jaws  dislocated  ;  so 
that  when  he  opened  his  mouth  wider  than  ordinary,  or  when  he 
yawned,  he  could  not  shut  it  again.  In  the  midst  of  his  harangues, 
therefore,  if  any  of  his  pupils  began  to  be  tired  of  his  lecture,  he  had 
only  to  gape  or  yawn,  and  the  professor  instantly  caught  the  sympa- 
thetic affection  ;  so  that  he  thus  continued  to  stand  speechless,  with 
his  mouth  wide  open,  till  his  servant,  from  the  next  room,  was  called 
in  to  set  his  jaw  again."! 

When  the  mind  reflects  with  regret  upon  some  good  unattained  or 
lost,  it  feels  an  internal  emotion,  which  acting  upon  the  diaphragm, 
and  that  upon  the  lungs,  produces  a  sigh ;  this,  when  the  mind  is 
strongly  affected,  is  repeated  ;  sorrow  succeeds  these  first  emotions  ; 
and  tears  are  often  seen  to  follow :  sobbing  is  the  sigh  still  more  in- 
vigorated ;  and  lamentation,  or  crying,  proceeds  from  the  continuance 
of  the  plaintive  tone  of  the  voice,  which  seems  to  implore  pity. 
"  There  is  yet  a  silent  agony,  in  which  the  mind  appears  to  disdain 
all  external  help,  and  broods  over  its  distresses  with  gloomy  reserve. 

*  Mr.  Buffon  is  of  this  opinion.     He  says  that  the  upper  j&w  is  immoveable  in  all  ani- 
indls.     However,  the  parrot  is  an  obvious  exception  ;  and  so  is  man  himself,  as  show  n 
above. 

t  Mr.  Bufton  says,  that  both  jaws,  in  a  perfect  face,  should  be  on  a  level :  but  this  is 
denied  by  the  best  painters. 

*  Since  the  publication  of  this  work,  the  editor  has  been  credibly  irvfonn«d  th.xt  the  pre- 
fessoi  had  not  the  defect  here  mentioned. 


ANIMALS  195 

This  is  the  most  dangerous  state  of  mind  :  accidents  or  friendship  m;iy 
lessen  the  louder  kinds  of  grief ;  but  all  remedies  for  this  must  be  had 
from  within :  and  there,  despair  too  often  finds  the  most  deadly 
enemy." 

Laughter  is  a  sound  of  the  voice,  interrupted  and  pursued  for  some 
continuance.  The  muscles  of  the  belly  and  the  diaphragm  are  em 
ployed  in  its  slightest  exertions ;  but  those  of  the  ribs  are  stronglj 
agitated  in  the  louder :  and  the  head  sometimes  is  thrown  backward, 
in  order  to  raise  them  with  greater  ease.  The  smile  is  often  an  indi- 
cation of  kindness  and  good  will :  it  is  also  often  used  as  a  mark  of 
contempt  and  ridicule. 

Blushing  proceeds  from  different  passions,  being  produced  by 
shame,  anger,  pride,  and  joy.  Paleness  is  often  also  the  effect  of 
anger ;  and  almost  ever  attendant  on  fright  and  fear.  These  altera- 
tions in  the  colour  of  the  countenance  are  entirely  involuntary  ;  all  the 
other  expressions  of  the  passions  are,  in  some  small  degree,  under  con- 
trol ;  but  blushing  and  paleness  betray  our  secret  purposes ;  and  we 
might  as  well  attempt  to  stop  them  as  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  by 
which  they  are  caused. 

The  whole  head,  as  well  as  the  features  of  the  face,  takes  peculiar 
attitudes  from  its  passions :  it  bends  forward  to  express  humility, 
shame,  or  sorrow ;  it  is  turned  to  one  side,  in  languor  or  in  pity  ;  it 
is  thrown  with  the  chin  forward,  in  arrogance  and  pride  ;  erect  in  self 
conceit  and  obstinacy ;  it  is  thrown  backwards  in  astonishment ;  and 
combines  its  motions  to  the  one  side,  and  the  other,  to  express  con 
tempt,  ridicule,  anger,  and  resentment.  "  Painters,  whose  study  leads 
to  the  contemplation  of  external  forms,  are  much  more  adequate  judges 
of  these  than  any  naturalist  can  be ;  and  it  is  with  these  a  general  re- 
mark, that  no  one  passion  is  regularly  expressed  on  different  counte- 
nances in  the  same  manner :  that  grief  often  sits  upon  the  face  like 
joy ;  and  pride  assumes  the  air  of  passion.  It  would  be  vain,  there- 
fore, in  words,  to  express  their  general  effect,  since  they  are  often  as 
various  as  the  countenances  they  sit  upon  ;  and  in  making  this  dis- 
tinction nicely,  lies  all  the  skill  of  the  physiognomist.  In  being  able 
to  distinguish  what  part  of  the  face  is  marked  by  nature,  and  what 
by  the  mind  ;  what  part  has  been  originally  formed,  and  what  is  made 
by  habit,  constitutes  this  science,  upon  which  the  ancients  so  much 
valued  themselves,  and  which  we  at  present  so  little  regard.  Some, 
however,  of  the  most  acute  men  among  us,  have  paid  great  attention 
to  this  art ;  and,  by  long  practice,  have  been  able  to  give  some  charac- 
ter of  every  person  whose  face  they  examined.  Montaigne  is  weH. 
known  to  have  disliked  those  men  who  shut  one  eye  in  looking  upon 
any  object ;  and  Fielding  asserts,  that  he  never  knew  a  person  with  a 
steady  glavering  smile,  but  he  found  him  a  rogue.  However,  most  of 
these  observations,  tending  to  a  discovery  of  the  mind  by  the  face,  are 
•nerely  capricious ;  and  nature  has  kindly  hid  our  hearts  from  each 
other,  to  keep  us  in  good  humour  with  our  felloe -creatures." 

The  parts  of  the  head  which  give  the  least  expression  to  the  face, 
ttre  the  ears ;  and  they  are  generally  found  hidden  under  the  hair. 
These,  which  are  immoveable,  and  make  so  small  an  appearance  in 
man,  are  very  distinguishing  features  in  quadrupeds.  Thev  serve  »o 


196  A  HISTORY  OF 

them  as  the  principal  marks  of  the  passions ;  the  ears  discover  their  joys 
or  their  terrors  with  tolerable  precision  ;  and  denote  all  their  internal 
agitatious.  The  smallest  ears,  in  men,  are  said  to  be  the  most  beauti- 
ful ;  but  the  largest  are  found  to  be  the  best  for  hearing.  There  are 
some  savage  nations  who  bore  their  ears,  and  so  draw  that  part  down, 
that  the  tips  of  the  ears  are  seen  to  rest  upon  their  shoulders. 

The  strange  variety  in  the  different  customs  of  men  appears  still 
more  extravagant  in  their  manner  of  wearing  their  beards.  Some, 
and  among  others,  the  Turks,  cut  the  hair  off  their  heads,  and  let  their 
beards  grow.  The  Europeans,  on  the  contrary,  shave  their  beards, 
and  wear  their  hair.  The  negroes  shave  their  heads  in  figures  at  one 
time,  in  stars  at  another,  in  the  manner  of  friars ;  and  still  more  com- 
monly in  alternate  stripes  ;  and  their  little  boys  are  shaved  in  the  same 
manner.  The  Talapoins  of  Siam  shave  the  heads  and  the  eye-brows 
of  such  children  as  are  committed  to  their  care.  Every  nation  seems 
to  have  entertained  different  prejudices  at  different  times,  in  favour  of 
one  part  or  another  of  the  beard.  Some  have  admired  the  hair  upon 
the  cheeks  on  each  side,  as  we  see  with  some  low-bred  men  among 
ourselves,  who  want  to  be  fine.  Some  like  the  hair  lower  down  ;  some 
choose  it  curled,  and  others  like  it  straight.  "  Some  have  cut  it  into 
a  peak,  and  others  shave  all  but  the  whisker.  This  particular  part  of 
the  beard  was  highly  prized  among  the  Spaniards :  till  of  late,  a  man 
without  whiskers  was  considered  as  unfit  for  company ;  and  where 
nature  had  denied  them,  art  took  care  to  supply  the  deficiency.  We 
are  told  of  a  Spanish  general  who,  when  he  borrowed  a  large  sum  of 
money  from  the  Venetians,  pawned  his  whiskers,  which  he  afterwards 
took  proper  care  to  release.  Kingson  assures  us,  that  a  considerable  part 
of  the  religion  of  the  Tartars  consists  in  the  management  of  their  whis- 
kers ;  and  that  they  waged  a  long  and  bloody  war  with  the  Persians, 
declaring  them  infidels,  merely  because  they  would  not  give  their 
whiskers  the  orthodox  cut.  The  kings  of  Persia  carried  the  care  of 
their  beards  to  a  ridiculous  excess,  when  they  chose  to  wear  them 
matted  with  gold  thread  :  and  even  the  kings  of  France,  of  the  first 
races,  had  them  knotted  and  buttoned  with  gold.  But  of  al  nations, 
the  Americans  take  the  greatest  pains  in  cutting  their  hair,  and  pluck- 
ing their  beards.  The  under  part  of  the  beard,  and  all  but  the  whis- 
ker, they  take  care  to  pluck  up  by  the  roots,  so  that  many  have  sup-, 
posed  them  to  have  no  hair  naturally  growing  on  that  part ;  and  even 
Linnaeus  has  fallen  into  that  mistake.  Their  hair  is  also  cut  into 
bands  ;  and  no  small  care  employed  in  adjusting  the  whisker.  In  fact, 
we  have  a  very  wrong  idea  of  savage  finery,  and  are  apt  to  suppose 
that,  like  the  beasts  of  the  forest,  they  rise,  and  are  dressed  with  a 
shake :  but  the  reverse  is  true ;  for  no  birth-night  beauty  takes  more 
time  or  pains  in  the  adorning  her  person  than  they.  I  remember 
when  the  Cherokee  kings  were  over  here,  that  I  have  waited  for  three 
hours,  during  the  time  they  were  dressing.  They  never  would  ven 
ture  to  make  their  appearance  till  they  had  gone  through  the  tedious 
ceremonies  of  tiie  toilet ;  they  had  their  boxes  of  oil  and  ochre,  their 
fat  and  tneir  perfumes,  like  the  most  effeminate  beau,  and  generally 
look  up  four  hours  in  dressing,  before  they  considered  themselves  as 
fit  10  be  seen  We  must  not,  therefore,  consider  a  delicacy  in  poin 


ANIMALS.  19r 

of  dress,  as  a  mark  of  refinement,  since  savages  are  much  more  diffi- 
cult in  this  particular  than  the  most  fashionable  or  tawdry  European. 
The  more  barbarous  the  people,  the  fonder  of  finery.  In  Europe,  the 
lustre  of  jewels,  and  the  splendour  of  the  most  brilliant  colours,  are 
generally  given  up  to  women,  or  to  the  weakest  part  of  the  other  sex, 
who  are  willing  to  be  contemptibly  fine :  but  in  Asia,  these  trifling 
fineries  are  eagerly  sought  after  by  every  condition  of  men ;  and,  as 
the  proverb  has  it,  we  find  the  richest  jewels  in  an  Ethiop's  ear.  The 
passion  for  glittering  ornaments  is  still  stronger  among  the  absolute 
barbarians,  who  often  exchange  their  whole  stock  of  provisions,  and 
whatever  else  they  happen  to  be  possessed  of,  with  our  seamen,  for  a 
glass  bead,  or  a  looking-glass. 

Although  fashions  have  arisen  in  different  countries  from  fancy  and 
caprice,  these,  when  they  become  general,  deserve  examination.  Man- 
kind have  always  considered  it  as  a  matter  of  moment,  and  they  will 
ever  continue  desirous  of  drawing  the  attention  of  each  other,  by  such 
ornaments  as  mark  the  riches,  the  power,  or  the  courage  of  the  wearer. 
The  value  of  those  shining  stones  which  have  at  all  times  been  con- 
sidered as  precious  ornaments,  is  entirely  founded  upon  their  scarce- 
ness or  their  brilliancy.  It  is  the  same  likewise  with  respect  to  those 
shining  metals,  the  weight  of  which  is  so  little  regarded,  when  spread 
over  our  clothes.  These  ornaments  are  rather  designed  to  draw  the 
attention  of  others,  than  to  add  to  any  enjoyments  of  our  own ;  and 
few  there  are  that  these  ornaments  will  not  serve  to  dazzle,  and  who 
can  coolly  distinguish  between  the  metal  and  the  man. 

All  things  rare  and  brilliant  will,  therefore,  ever  continue  to  be 
fashionable,  while  men  derive  greater  advantage  from  opjlence  than 
virtue  ;  while  the  means  of  appearing  considerable,  are  more  easily 
acquired  than  the  title  to  be  considered.  The  first  impression  we 
generally  make,  arises  from  our  dress ;  and  this  varies,  in  conformity 
to  our  inclinations,  and  the  manner  in  which  we  desire  to  be  con- 
sidered. The  modest  man,  or  he  who  would  wish  to  be  thought  so, 
desires  to  show  the  simplicity  of  his  mind  by  the  plainness  of  his 
dress ;  the  vain  man,  on  the  contrary,  takes  a  pleasure  in  displaying 
his  superiority,  "  and  is  willing  to  incur  the  spectator's  dislike,  so  he 
does  but  excite  his  attention." 

Another  point  of  view  which  men  have  in  dressing,  is  to  increase 
the  size  of  their  figure,  and  to  take  up  more  room  in  the  world  than 
nature  seems  to  have  allotted  them.  We  desire  to  swell  out  our 
clothes  by  the  stiffness  of  art,  and  raise  our  heels,  while  we  add  to  the 
(argeness  of  our  heads.  How  bulky  soever  our  dress  may  be,  our 
vanities  are  still  more  bulky.  The  largeness  of  the  doctor's  wig  arises 
from  the  same  pride  with  the  smallness  of  the  beau's  queue.  Both 
want  to  have  the  size  of  their  understanding  measured  by  the  size  of 
their  heads. 

There  are  some  modes  that  seem  to  have  a  more  reasonable  origin, 
which  is  to  hide  or  to  lessen  the  defects  of  nature.  To  take  men  al- 
together, there  are  many  more  deformed  and  plain  than  beautiful  and 
snapely.  The  former,  as  being  the  most  numerous,  give  law  to  fashion, 
And  their  laws  are  generally  such  as  are  made  in  their  own  favour. 
The  women  begin  to  colour  their  cheeks  with  red,  when  the  natur  il 


198  A  HISTORY  OF 

rosts  are  faded  ;  and  the  younger  are  obliged  to  submit,  though  not 
compelled  by  the  same  necessity.  In  all  parts  of  the  world,  this  cus- 
tom prevails  more  or  less  ;  and  powdering  and  frizzing  the  hair,  though 
not  so  general,  seems  to  have  arisen  from  a  similar  control. 

But  leaving  the  draperies  of  the  human  picture,  let  us  return  to  the 
figure,  unadorned  by  art.  Man's  head,  whether  considered  external- 
ly or  internally,  is  differently  formed  from  that  of  all  other  animals, 
the  monkey-kind  only  excepted,  in  which  there  is  a  striking  similitude. 
There  are  some  differences,  however,  which  we  shall  take  notice  of 
in. another  place.  The  bodies  of  all  quadruped  animals  are  covered 
with  hair  ;  but  the  head  of  man  seems  the  part  most  adorned,  and  that 
more  abundantly  than  in  any  other  animal. 

There  is  a  very  great  variety  in  the  teeth  of  all  animals  ;  some  have 
them  above  and  below ;  others  have  them  in  the  under  jaw  only  :  in 
some  they  stand  separate  from  each  other ;  while  in  some  they  are 
continued  and  united.  The  palate  of  some  fishes  is  nothing  else  but 
a  bony  plate  studded  with  points,  which  perform  the  office  of  teeth. 
All  these  substances,  in  every  animal,  derive  their  origin  from  the 
nerves ;  the  substance  of  the  nerves  hardens  by  being  exposed  to  the 
air ;  and  the  nerves  that  terminate  in  the  mouth,  being  thus  exposed, 
acquire  a  bony  solidity.  In  this  manner,  the  teeth  and  nails  are  formed 
in  man  ;  and  in  this  manner  also,  the  beak,  the  hoofs,  the  horns,  and  the 
talons  of  other  animals  are  found  to  be  produced. 

The  neck  supports  the  head,  and  unites  it  to  the  body.  This  part 
is  much  more  considerable  in  the  generality  of  quadrupeds,  than  in 
man.  But  fishes  and  other  animals  that  want  lungs  similar  to  ours, 
have  no  neck  whatsoever.  Birds,  in  general,  have  the  neck  longer 
than  any  other  kind  of  animals ;  those  of  them,  which  have  short 
claws,  have  also  short  necks ;  those,  on  the  contrary,  that  have  them 
long,  are  found  to  have  the  neck  in  proportion.  "  In  men,  there  is  a 
lump  upon  the  wind-pipe,  formed  by  the  thyroid  cartilage,  which  is 
not  to  be  seen  in  women ;  an  Arabian  fable  says,  that  this  is  a  part 
of  the  original  apple,  that  has  stuck  in  the  man's  throat  by  the  way, 
but  that  the  woman  swallowed  her  part  of  it  down." 

The  human  breast  is  outwardly  formed  in  a  very  different  manner 
from  that  of  other  animals.  It  is  larger  in  proportion  to  the  size  ot 
the  body  ;  and  none  but  man,  and  such  animals  as  make  use  of  their 
fore-feet  as  hands,  such  as  monkeys,  bats,  and  squirrels,  and  such 
quadrupeds  as  climb  trees,  are  found  to  have  those  bones  called  the 
clavicles,  or,  as  we  usually  term  them,  the  collar  bones.*  The  breasts 
in  women  are  larger  than  in  men  ;  however,  they  seem  formed  in  the 
same  manner ;  and  sometimes  milk  is  found  in  the  breasts  of  men  as 
well  as  in  those  of  women.  Among  animals,  there  is  a  great  variety 
in  this  part  of  the  body.  The  teats  of  some,  as  in  the  ape  and  the 
elephant,  are  like  those  of  men,  being  but  two,  and  placed  on  each 
side  of  the  breast.  The  teats  of  the  bear  amount  to  four.  The  sheep 
has  but  two,  placed  between  the  hinder  legs.  Other  animals,  such  as 
the  bitch,  and  the  sow,  have  them  all  along  the  belly ;  and  as  they 
produce  many  young,  they  have  a  great  many  teats  for  th<  ir  support. 
The  form  also  of  the  teats  varies  in  different  animals,  and  in  the  same 

*  Mr.  Buffon  says  that  none  but  monkeys  have  them  ;  but  this  is  an  ovcr-sifjit. 


ANIMALS.  195 

animal  at  different  ages.  The  bosom,  in  females,  seems  to  unite  al1 
our  ideas  of  beauty,  where  the  outline  is  continually  changing,  and  th«» 
gradations  are  soft  and  regular. 

"  The  graceful  fall  of  the  shoulders,  both  in  man  and  woman,  con- 
stitute no  small  part  of  beauty.  In  apes,  though  otherwise  made  like 
us,  the  shoulders  are  high,  and  drawn  up  on  each  side  towards  the 
ears.  In  man  they  fall  by  a  gentle  declivity ;  and  the  more  so,  in 
proportion  to  the  beauty  of  his  form.  In  fact,  being  high-shouldered, 
is  not  without  reason  considered  as  a  deformity,  for  we  find  very 
sickly  persons  are  always  so ;  and  people  when  dying  are  ever  seen 
with  their  shoulders  drawn  up  in  a  surprising  manner.  The  muscles 
that  serve  to  raise  the  ribs,  mostly  rise  near  the  shoulders ;  and  the 
higher  we  raise  the  shoulders,  we  the  more  easily  raise  the  ribs  like- 
wise. It  happens,  therefore,  in  the  sickly  and  the  dying,  who  do  not 
breathe  without  labour,  that  to  raise  the  ribs,  they  are  obliged  to  call 
in  the  assistance  of  the  shoulders ;  and  thus  their  bodies  assume  from 
habit,  that  form  which  they  are  so  frequently  obliged  to  assume.  Wo- 
men with  child  also  are  usually  seen  to  be  high-shouldered ;  for  the 
weight  of  the  inferior  parts  drawing  down  the  ribs,  they  are  obliged 
to  use  every  effort  to  elevate  them,  and  thus  they  raise  the  shoulders 
of  course.  During  pregnancy,  also,  the  shape,  not  only  of  the  shoul- 
ders, but  also  of  the  breast,  and  even  the  features  of  the  face,  are 
greatly  altered ;  for  the  whole  upper  fore-part  of  the  body  is  covered 
with  a  broad  thin  skin,  called  the  myoides,  which,  being  at  that  timo 
drawn  down,  it  also  draws  down  with  it  the  skin,  and  consequently  tho 
features  of  the  face.  By  these  means  the  visage  takes  a  particular 
form ;  the  lower  eye-lids,  and  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  are  drawn 
downwards,  so  that  the  eyes  are  enlarged,  and  the  mouth  lengthened  ; 
and  women,  in  these  circumstances,  are  said  by  the  midwives,  to  be 
all  mouth  and  eyes." 

The  arms  of  men  but  very  little  resemble  the  fore-feet  of  quadru- 
peds, and  much  less  the  wings  of  birds.  The  ape  is  the  only  anima! 
that  is  possessed  of  hands  and  arms  ;  but  these  are  much  more  rudely 
fashioned,  and  with  less  exact  proportion,  than  in  men  ;  "  the  thumb 
not  being  so  well  opposed  to  the  rest  of  the  fingers  in  their  hands,  as 
in  ours." 

The  form  of  the  back  is  not  much  different  in  man  from  that  of 
other  quadruped  animals,  only  that  the  reins  are  more  muscular  in  him 
and  stronger.  The  buttock,  however,  in  man,  is  different  from  that  ot 
all  other  animals  whatsoever.  What  goes  by  that  name  in  other  crea- 
tures, is  only  the  upper  part  of  the  thigh  ;  man  being  the  only  animal 
that  supports  himself  perfectly  erect,  the  largeness  of  this  part  is  owing 
to  the  peculiarity  of  his  position. 

Man's  feet,  also,  are  different  from  those  of  all  other  animals,  those 
even  of  apes  not  excepted.  The  foot  of  the  ape  is  rather  a  kind  of 
awkward  hand  ;  its  toes,  or  rather  fingers,  are  long,  and  that  of  the 
middle,  longest  of  all.  This  foot  also  wants  the  heel,  as  in  man  ;  the 
sole  is  narrower,  and  less  adapted  to  maintain  the  equilibrium  of  the 
body  in  walking,  dancing,  or  running. 

The  nails  are  less  in  man  than  in  any  other  animal.  If  they  were 
niuc.h  longer  than  the  extremities  of  the  fingers,  they  would  rather  be 


200  A  HISTORY  OF 

prejudicial  than  serviceable,  and  obstruct  the  management  of  the 
hand.  Such  savages  as  let  them  grow  long,  make  use  of  them  in  flay- 
ing animals,  in  tearing  their  flesh,  and  such  like  purposes ;  however, 
though  their  nails  are  considerably  larger  than  ours,  they  are  by  no 
means  to  be  compared  to  the  hoofs  or  the  claws  of  other  animals. 
"  They  may  sometimes  be  seen  longer,  indeed,  than  the  claws  of  any 
animal  whatsoever:  as  we  learn  that  the  nails  of  some  of  the  leained 
men  in  China  are  longer  than  their  fingers.  But  these  want  that  so- 
lidity which  might  give  force  to  their  exertions,  and  could  never,  in  a 
state  of  nature,  have  served  them  for  annoyance  or  defence." 

There  is  little  known  exactly  with  regard  to  the  proportion  of  the 
human  figure ;  and  the  beauty  of  the  best  statues  is  better  conceived, 
by  observing  than  by  measuring  them.  The  statues  of  antiquity,  which 
were  at  first  copied  after  the  human  form,  are  now  become  the  models 
of  it ;  nor  is  there  one  man  found  whose  person  approaches  to  those 
inimitable  performances  that  have  thus,  in  one  figure,  united  the  per- 
fections of  many.  It  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  from  being  at  first  models, 
they  are  now  become  originals,  and  are  used  to  correct  the  deviations 
in  that  form  from  whence  they  were  taken."  I  will  not,  however, 
pretend  to  give  the  proportions  of  the  human  body  as  taken  from  these, 
there  being  nothing  more  arbitrary,  and  which  good  painters  them- 
selves so  much  contemn.  Some,  for  instance,  who  have  studied  after 
these,  divide  the  body  into  ten  times  the  length  of  the  face,  and  others 
into  eight.  Some  pretend  to  tell  us,  that  there  is  a  similitude  of  pro- 
portion in  different  parts  of  the  body.  Thus,  that  the  hand  is  the 
length  of  the  face,  the  thumb  the  length  of  the  nose,  the  space  be- 
tween the  eyes  is  the  breadth  of  an  eye  ;  that  the  breadth  of  the  thigh, 
at  thickest,  is  double  that  of  the  thickest  part  of  the  leg,  and  treble 
the  smallest ;  that  the  arms  extended,  arc  as  long  as  the  figure  is 
high  ;  that  the  legs  and  thighs  are  half  the  length  of  the  figure.  All 
this,  however,  is  extremely  arbitrary ;  and  the  excellence  of  a  shape, 
or  the  beauty  of  a  statue,  results  from  the  attitude  and  position  of  the 
whole,  rather  than  any  established  measurements,  begun  without  ex- 
perience, and  adopted  by  caprice.  In  general,  it  may  be  remarked 
that  the  proportions  alter  in  every  age,  and  are  obviously  different  in 
the  two  sexes.  In  women,  the  shoulders  are  narrower,  and  the  neck 
proportionably  longer  than  in  men.  The  hips,  also,  are  considerably 
larger,  and  the  thighs  much  shorter  than  in  men.  These  proportions, 
however,  vary  greatly  at  different  ages.  In  infancy,  the  upper  parts 
of  the  body  are  much  larger  than  the  lower  ;  the  legs  and  thighs  do 
not  constitute  any  thing  like  half  the  height  of  the  whole  figure ;  in 

Kroportion  as  the  child  increases  in  age,  the  inferior  parts  are  found  to 
jngthen  ;  so  that  the  body  is  not  equally  divided  until  it  has  acquired 
its  full  growth. 

The  size  of  men  varies  considerably.  Men  are  said  to  be  tall  wm» 
die  from  five  feet  eight  inches  to  six  feet  hign.  The  middle  stature 
is  from  five  feet  five  to  five  feet  eight:  and  those  are  said  to  be  of 
srnal!  stature  who  fall  under  these  measures.  "  However,  it  ought  to 
be  remarked,  that  the  same  person  is  always  taller  when  he  rises  in 
the  morning,  than  upon  going  to  bed  at  night ;  and  sometimes  there  is 
an  inch  difference  ;  and  I  have  seen  more.  Few  persons  are  sensible 


ANIMALS.  201 

of  this  remarkable  variation  ;  and,  I  am  told,  it  was  first  perceived  in 
England  b}  a  recruiting  officer.  He  often  found  that  those  men  whom 
he  had  enlisted  for  soldiers,  and  answered  to  the  appointed  slanda-d 
at  one  time,  fell  short  of  it  when  they  -came  to  be  measured  before  the 
colonel  at  the  head-quarters.  This  diminution  in  their  size  proceeded 
from  the  different  times  of  the  day,  and  the  different  states  of  the 
body,  when  they  happened  to  be  measured.  If,  as  was  said,  they  were 
measured  in  the  morning,  after  the  night's  refreshment,  they  were 
found  to  be  commonly  half  an  inch,  and  very  often  a  whole  inch, 
taller  than  if  measured  after  the  fatigues  of  the  day ;  if  they  were 
measured  when  fresh  in  the  country,  and  before  a  long  fatiguing 
march  to  the  regiment,  they  were  found  to  be  an  inch  taller  than 
when  they  arrived  at  their  journey's  end.  All  this  is  now  well  known 
among  those  who  recruit  for  the  army ;  and  the  reason  of  this  differ- 
ence of  stature  is  obvious.  Between  all  the  joints  of  the  back-bone, 
which  is  composed  of  several  pieces,  there  is  a  glutinous  liquor  de- 
posited, which  serves,  like  oil  in  a  machine,  to  give  the  parts  an  easy 
play  upon  each  other.  This  lubricating  liquor,  or  synovia,  as  the 
anatomists  call  it,  is  poured  in  during  the  season  of  repose,  and  is 
consumed  by  exercise  and  employment ;  so  that  in  a  body,  after  hard 
labour,  there  is  scarce  any  of  it  remaining;  but  all  the  joints  grow 
stiff,  and  their  motion  becomes  hard  and  painful.  It  is  from  hence, 
therefore,  that  the  body  diminishes  in  stature.  For  this  moisture  be- 
ing drained  away  from  between  the  numerous  joints  of  the  back-bone, 
they  lie  closer  upon  each  other ;  and  their  whole  length  is  thus  very 
sensibly  diminished  ;  but  sleep,  by  restoring  the  fluid  again,  swells  the 
spaces  between  the  joints,  and  the  whole  is  extended  to  its  former  di- 
mensions. 

"  As  the  human  body  is  thus  often  found  to  differ  from  itself  in 
size,  so  it  is  found  to  differ  in  its  weight  also  ;  and  the  same  person, 
without  any  apparent  cause,  is  found  to  be  heavier  at  one  time  than 
another.  If,  after  having  eaten  a  hearty  dinner,  or  having  drank  hard, 
the  person  should  find  himself  thus  heavier,  it  would  appear  no  way 
extraordinary ;  but  the  fact  is,  the  body  is  very  often  found  heavier 
some  hours  after  eating  a  hearty  meal  than  immediately  succeeding 
it.  If,  for  instance,  a  person  fatigued  by  a  day's  hurd  labour,  should 
eat  a  plentiful  supper,  and  then  get  himself  weighed  upon  going  to 
bed,  after  sleeping  soundly,  if  he  is  again  weighed,  he  will  find  himself 
considerably  heavier  than  before ;  and  this  difference  is  often  found 
to  amount  to  a  pound,  or  sometimes  to -a  pound  and  a  half.  From 
>vhence  this  adventitious  weight  is  derived  is  not  easy  to  conceive ; 
(lie  body,  during  the  whole  night,  appears  rather  plentifully  perspiring 
than  imbibing  any  fluid  ;  rather  losing  than  gaining  moisture :  how- 
ever, we  have  no  reason  to  doubt  but  that  either  by  the  lungs,  or  per- 
haps, by  a  peculiar  set  of  pores,  it  is  all  this  time  inhaling  a  quantity 
of  fluid,  *,vhich  thus  increases  the  weight  of  the  whole  body  upon  be- 
rng  weighed  the  next  morning.'7* 

*  From  this  experiment,  also,  the  learned  may  gainer  upon  what  a  we<tk  foundation 
<he  whole  doctrine  of  the  Sanctorian  perspiration  is  built;  but  this  disquisition  more  pro 
per.v  belongs  to  medicine  than  natural  history 


202  A  HISTORY  OJb 

Although  the  human  body  is  externally  more  delicate  than  any  ol 
the  quadruped  kind,  it  is,  notwithstanding,  extremely  muscular;  and 
perhaps,  for  its  size,  stronger  than  that  of  any  other  animal.  If  we 
should  offer  to  compare  the  strength  of  the  lion  with  that  of  man,  we 
should  consider  that  the  claws  of  this  animal  give  us  a  false  idea  of 
its  power ;  we  ascribe  to  its  force  what  is  only  the  effects  of  its  arms. 
Those  which  man  has  received  from  Nature  are  not  offensive  ;  happv 
had  Art  never  furnished  him  with  any  more  terrible  than  those  which 
arm  the  paws  of  the  lion. 

But  there  is  another  manner*  of  comparing  the  strength  of  man 
with  that  of  other  animals  ;  namely,  by  the  weights  which  either  can 
carry.  We  are  assured  that  the  porters  of  Constantinople  carry  bur- 
dens of  nine  hundred  pounds  weight.  Mr.  Desaguliers  tells  us  of  a 
man  who,  by  distributing  weights  in  such  a  manner  as  that  every  part 
of  his  body  bore  its  share,  he  was  thus  able  to  raise  a  weight  of  two 
thousand  pounds.  A  horse,  which  is  about  seven  times  our  bulk,  would 
be  thus  able  to  raise  a  weight  of  fourteen  thousand  pounds,  if  its 
strength  were  in  the  same  proportion.t  "  But  the  truth  is,  a  horse 
will  not  carry  upon  his  back  above  a  weight  of  two  or  three  hundred 
pounds  ;  while  a  man  of  confessedly  inferior  strength,  is  thus  aMe  to 
support  two  thousand.  Whence  comes  this  seeming  superiority  ?  The 
answer  is  obvious.  Because  the  load  upon  the  man's  shoulders  is 
placed  to  the  greatest  advantage  ;  while,  upon  the  horse's  back,  it  is 
placed  at  the  greatest  disadvantage.  Let  us  suppose,  for  a  moment, 
the  man  standing  as  upright  as  possible,  under  the  great  load  above 
mentioned.  It  is  obvious  that  all  the  bones  of  his  body  may  be  com- 
pared to  a  pillar  supporting  a  building,  and  that  his  muscles  have 
scarce  any  share  in  this  dangerous  duty.  However,  they  are  not  en- 
tirely inactive  ;  as  man,  let  him  stand  never  so  upright,  will  have  some 
bending  in  the  different  parts  of  his  body.  The  muscles,  therefore, 
give  the  bones  some  assistance,  and  that  with  the  greatest  possible  ad- 
vantage. In  this  manner  a  man  has  been  found  to  support  two  thou- 
sand weight,  but  may  be  capable  of  supporting  a  still  greater.  The 
manner  in  which  this  is  done,  is  by  strapping  the  load  round  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  person  who  is  to  bear  it,  by  a  machine,  something  like  that 
by  which  milk-vessels  or  water-buckets  are  carried.  The  load  being 
thus  placed  on  a  scaffold,  on  each  side,  contrived  for  tnat  purpose,  and 
the  man  standing  erect  in  the  midst,  all  parts  of  the  scaffold,  except 
that  where  the  man  stands,  are  made  to  sink ;  and  thus  the  man  main- 
taining his  position,  the  load,  whatever  it  is,  becomes  suspended,  and 
•the  column  of  his  bones  may  be  fairly  said  to  support  it.  If,  how- 
ever, he  should  but  ever  so  little  give  way,  he  must  inevitably  drop  ; 
and  no  power  of  his  can  raise  the  weights  again.  But  the  case  is  very 
different  with  regard  to  a  load  laid  upon  a  horse.  The  column  of  the 
bones  there  lies  a  different  way  ;  and  a  weight  of  five  hundred  pounds, 
as  I  am  told,  would  break  the  back  of  the  strongest  horse  that  could 
be  found.  The  great  force  of  a  horse,  and  other  quadrupeds,  is  ex- 

*  Mr.  Buffon  calls  it  a  better  manner  ;  but  this  is  not  the  case. 

1  Mr.  BtiffoD  carries  this  subject  no  farther;  and  thus  far,  without  explanation,  it  i 
erroneous 


ANIMALS.  203 

«rted  when  the  load  is  in  such  a  position  as  that  the  column  of  th» 
bones  can  be  properly  applied,  which  is  lengthwise.  When,  therefore, 
we  are  to  estimate  the  comparative  strength  of  a  horse,  we  are  not  to 
try  what  he  can  carry,  but  what  he  can  draw ;  and,  in  this  case,  his 
amazing  superiority  over  man  is  easily  discerned  ;  for  one  horse  can 
draw  a  load  that  ten  men  cannot  move.  And  in  some  cases  it  hap- 
pens that  a  draught-horse  draws  the  better  for  being  somewhat  loaded  : 
for,  as  the  peasants  say,  the  load  upon  the  back  keeps  him  the  better 
to  the  ground." 

There  is  still  another  way  of  estimating  human  strength,  by  the  per- 
severance and  agility  of  our  motions.  Men  who  are  exercised  in 
running,  outstrip  horses,  or  at  least  hold  their  speed  for  a  longer  con- 
tinuance. In  a  journey,  also,  a  man  will  walk  down  a  horse  ;  and, 
after  thev  have  both  continued  to  proceed  for  several  days,  the  horse 
will  be  quite  tired,  and  the  man  will  be  fresher  than  in  the  beginning. 
The  king's  messengers  of  Ispahan,  who  are  runners  by  profession,  go 
thirty-six  leagues  in  fourteen  hours.  Travellers  assure  us,  that  the 
Hottentots  outstrip  lions  in  the  chace  ;  and  that  the  savages  who  hunt 
the  elk,  pursue  with  such  speed,  that  they  at  last  tire  down,  and  take 
it.  We  are  told  many  very  surprising  things  of  the  great  swiftness  of 
the  savages,  and  of  the  long  journeys  they  undertake  on  foot,  through 
the  most  craggy  mountains,  where  there  are  no  paths  to  direct,  nor 
houses  to  entertain  them.  They  are  said  to  perform  a  journey  of 
twelve  hundred  leagues  in  less  than  six  weeks.  "  But  notwithstand- 
ing what  travellers  report  of  this  matter,  I  have  been  assured,  from 
many  of  our  officers  and  soldiers,  who  compared  their  own  swiftness 
with  that  of  the  native  Americans,  during  the  last  war,  that  although 
the  savages  held  out,  and  as  the  phrase  is,  had  better  bottoms,  yet,  for 
a  spurt,  the  Englishmen  were  more  nimble  and  speedy." 

Nevertheless,  in  general,  civilized  man  is  ignorant  of  his  own  pow- 
ers :  he  is  ignorant  how  much  he  loses  by  effeminacy,  and  what  might 
be  acquired  by  habit  and  exercise.  Here  and  there,  indeed,  men  are 
found  among  us  of  extraordinary  strength  ;  but  that  strength,  for  want 
of  opportunity,  is  seldom  called  into  exertion.  "  Among  the  ancients, 
it  was  a  quality  of  much  greater  use  than  at  present ;  as  in  war  the 
same  man  that  had  strength  sufficient  to  carry  the  heaviest  armour,  had 
strength  sufficient  also  to  strike  the  most  fatal  blow.  In  this  case,  his 
strength  was  at  once  his  protection  and  his  power.  We  ought  not  to 
be  surprised,  therefore,  when  we  hear  of  one  man  terrible  to  an  army, 
and  irresistible  in  his  career,  as  we  find  some  generals  represented  in 
ancient  history.  But  we  may  be  very  certain  that  this  prowess  was 
exaggerated  by  flattery,  and  exalted  by  terror.  An  age  of  ignorance 
is  ever  an  age  of  wonder.  At  such  times,  mankind,  having  no  just 
ideas  of  the  human  powers,  are  willing  rather  to  represent  what  they 
wish,  than  what  they  know ;  and  exalt  human  strength,  to  fill  up  the 
whole  sphere  of  their  limited  conceptions.  Great  strength  is  an  ac- 
cidental thing ;  two  or  three  in  a  country  may  possess  it,  and  these 
may  have  a  claim  to  heroism.  But  what  may  lead  us  to  doubt  of  the 
veracity  of  these  accounts  is,  that  the  heroes  of  antiquity  are  repre- 
sented as  the  sons  of  heroes  ;  their  amazing  strength  is  delivered  down 
from  father  to  sun  •  and  this  we  know  to  be  contrary  to  the  course  of 


204  A  HISTORY  OF 

nature.     Strength  is  not  hereditary,  although  titles  are  :  and  I  am  very 
much  induced  to  believe  that  this  great  tribe  of  heroes,  who  were  all 
represented  as  the  descendants  of  heroes,  are  more  obliged  to  theii 
titles  than  to  their  strength  for  their  characters.     With  regard  to  the 
shining  characters  in  Homer,  they  are  all  represented  as  princes,  and 
as  the  sons  of  princes,  while  we  are  told  of  scarce  any  share  of  prowess 
in  the  meaner  men  of  the  army,  who  are  only  brought  into  the  field 
for  these  to  protect  or  to  slaughter.    But  nothing  can  be  more  unlikely, 
than  that  those  men  who  were  bred  in  the  luxury  of  courts,  should  be 
strong,  while  the  whole  body  of  the  people,  who  receive  a  plainer  and 
simpler  education,  should  be  comparatively  weak.     Nothing  can  be 
more  contrary  to  the  general  laws  of  nature,  than  that  all  the  sons  of 
heroes  should  thus  inherit  not  only  the  kingdoms,  but  the*  strength  of 
their  forefathers  ;  and  we  may  conclude,  that  they  owe  the  greatest 
share  of  their  imputed  strength  rather  to  the  dignity  of  their  stations 
than  the  force  of  their  arms ;  and,  like   all  fortunate  princes,  their 
flatterers  happened  to  be  believed.     In  latter  ages,  indeed,  we  have 
some  accounts  of  amazing  strength,  which  we  can  have  no  reason   to 
doubt  of.     But  in  these,  nature  is  found  to  pursue  her  ordinary  course, 
and  we  find  their  strength  accidental.      We  find  these  strong  men 
among  the  lowest  of  the  people,  and  gradually  rising  into  notice,  as 
this  superiority  had  more  opportunity  of  being  seen.    Of  this  number 
xvas  the  Roman  tribune,  who  went  by  the  name  of  the  second  Achilles, 
who,  with  his  own  hand,  is  said  to  have  killed,  at  different  times,  three 
hundred  of  the  enemy  ;  and  when  treacherously  set  upon,  by  twenty- 
five  of  his  own  countrymen,  although  then  past  his  sixtieth  year,  killed 
fourteen  of  them  before  he  was  slain.     Of  this  number  was  Milo,  who, 
when  he  stood  upright,  could  not  be  forced  out  of  his  place.     Pliny 
also  tells  us  of  one  Athanatus,  who  walked  across  the  stage  at  Rome, 
loaded  with  a  breastplate  weighing  five  hundred  pounds,  and  buskins 
of  the  same  weight.     But  of  all  the  prodigies  of  strength,  of  whom 
we  have  any  accounts  in  Roman  history,  Maximin,  the  emporor,  is  to 
be  reckoned  the  foremost.     Whatever  we  are  told  relative  to  him  is 
well  attested  ;    his  character  was  too  exalted  not  to  be   thoroughly 
known  ;  and  that  very  strength  for  which  he  was  celebrated,  at  last 
procured  him  no  less  a  reward  than  the  empire  of  the  world.     Maxi 
min  was  above  nine  feet  in  height,  and  the  best  proportioned  man  in 
the  whole  empire.     He  was  by  birth  a  Thracian  ;  and,  from  being  a 
simple  herdsman,  rose  through  the  gradations  of  office,  until  he  came 
lo  be  emperor  of  Rome.     The  first  opportunity  he  had  of  exerting 
his  strength,  was  in  the  presence  of  all  the  citizens,  in  the  theatre, 
tvneie  he  overthrew  twelve  of  the  strongest  men  in  wrestling,  and 
outstript  two  of  the  fleetest  horses  in  running,  all  in  one  day.     He 
could  draw  a  chariot  loaden,  that  two  strong  horses  could  not  move ; 
he  could  break  a  horse's  jaw  with  a  blow  of  his  fist ;  and  its  thigh 
with  a  kick.     In  war  he  was  always  foremost  and  invincible  :  happy 
had  it  been  for  him  and  his  subjects,  if,  from  being  formidable  to  his 
enemies,  he  had  not  become  still  more  so  to  his  subjects;  he  reigned 
for  some  time  with  all  the  world  his  enemy ;  all  mankind  wishing  him 
dead,  yet  none  daring  to  strike  the  blow.     As  if  fortune  had  reso  ved 
..hat  through  life  ho  should  continue  unconquerable,  he  was  Killo<l  at 


ANIMALS.  205 

,ast  by  his  own  soldiers,  while  he  was  sleeping.  We  have  many  other 
instances  in  later  ages  of  very  great  strength,  and  not  fewer  of  amazing 
swiftness;  but  these  merely  corporeal  perfections  aie  now  considered 
as  of  small  advantage,  either  in  war  or  in  peace.  The  invention  of 
gunpowder  has,  in  some  measure,  levelled  all  force  to  one  standard , 
and  has  wrought  a  total  change  in  martial  education  through  all  parts 
of  the  world.  In  peace  also,  the  invention  of  new  machines  every 
«lay,  and  the  application  of  the  strength  of  the  lower  animals  to  the 
purposes  of  life,  have  rendered  human  strength  less  valuable.  The 
boast  of  corporeal  force  is  therefore  consigned  to  savage  nations, 
where  those  arts  not  being  introduced,  it  may  still  be  needful ;  but  in 
more  polite  countries,  few  will  be  proud  of  that  strength  which  other 
animals  can  be  taught  to  exert  to  as  useful  purposes  as  they. 

"  If  we  compare  the  largeness  and  thickness  of  our  muscles  with 
those  of  any  other  animal,  we  shall  find  that,  in  this  respect,  we  have 
the  advantage  ;  and  if  strength  or  swiftness  depended  upon  the  quantity 
of  muscular  flesh  alone,  I  believe  that,  in  this  respect,  we  should  be 
more  active  and  powerful  than  any  other.  But  this  is  not  the  case ; 
a  great  deal  more  than  the  size  of  the  muscles  goes  to  constitute  ac- 
tivity or  force ;  and  it  is  not  he  who  has  the  thickest  legs  that  can 
make  the  best  use  of  them.  Those,  therefore,  who  have  written  ela- 
borate treatises  on  muscular  force,  and  have  estimated  the  strength  of 
animals  by  the  thickness  of  their  muscles,  have  been  employed  to  very 
little  purpose.  It  is  in  general  observed,  that  thin  and  raw-boned  men 
are  always  stronger  and  more  powerful  than  such  as  are  seemingly 
more  muscular,  as  in  the  former  all  the  parts  have  better  room  for  their 
exertions." 

Women  want  much  of  the  strength  of  men  ;  and,  in  some  countries, 
the  stronger  sex  have  availed  themselves  of  this  superiority,  in  cruelly 
and  tyrannically  enslaving  those  who  were  made  with  equal  preten- 
sions to  a  share  in  all  the  advantages  life  can  bestow.  Savage  nations 
oblige  their  women  to  a  life  of  continual  labour ;  upon  them  rest  all 
the  drudgeries  of  domestic  duty,  whi.e  the  husband,  indolently  re- 
dined  in  his  hammock,  is  first  served  from  the  fruits  of  her  industry. 
Vrom  this  negligent  situation  he  is  seldom  roused,  except  by  the  calls 
of  appetite,  when  it  is  necessary,  either  by  fishing  or  hunting,  to  make 
a  variety  in  his  entertainments.  A  savage  has  no  idea  of  taking  plea- 
sure in  exercise ;  he  is  surprised  to  see  a  European  walk  forward  for 
bis  amusement,  and  then  return  back  again.  As  for  his  part,  he  could 
t,o  contented  to  remain  for  ever  in  the  same  situation,  perfectly  satis- 
lied  wit .  sensual  pleasures  and  undisturbed  repose.  The  women  of 
these  coanttios  are  the  greatest  slaves  upon  earth ;  sensible  of  their 
weakness,  and  unable  to  resist,  they  are  obliged  to  suffer  those  hard- 
ships which  are  naturally  inflicted  by  such  as  have  been  taught  that 
nothing  but  corporeal  force  ought  to  give  pre-eminence.  It  is  not, 
therefore,  till  after  some  degree  of  refinement,  that  women  are  treated 
with  lenity  ;  and  not  till  the  highest  degree  of  politeness,  that  they 
are  permitted  to  share  in  all  the  privileges  of  man.  The  first  impulse 
of  savage  nature  is  to  confirm  their  slavery  ;  the  next,  of  half  barbarous 
nations,  is  to  appropriate  their  beauty ;  and  that  of  the  perfectly  po- 
lite, to  engage  their  affections.  In  civilized  countries,  therefore,  *ro- 


206  A  HISTORY  OF 

men  have  united  the  force  of  modesty  to  the  power  of  their  natural 
charms,  a»d  thus  obtain  that  superiority  over  the  mind  which  they  are 
unable  to  extort  by  their  strength. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OP  SLEEP  AND  HUNGER. 

As  man,  in  all  the  privileges  he  enjoys,  and  the  powers  he  is  in- 
vested with,  has  a  superiority  over  all  other  animals,  so  in  his  neces- 
sities he  seems  inferior  to  the  meanest  of  them  all.  Nature  has 
brought  him  into  life  with  a  greater  variety  of  wants  and  infirmities 
than  the  rest  of  her  creatures,  unarmed  in  the  midst  of  enemies.  The 
lion  has  natural  arms ;  the  bear  natural  clothing ;  but  man  is  destitute 
of  all  such  advantages  ;  and,  from  the  superiority  of  his  mind  alone, 
he  is  to  supply  the  deficiency.  The  number  of  his  wants,  however, 
were  merely  given  in  order  to  multiply  the  number  of  his  enjoyments, 
since  the  possibility  of  being  deprived  of  any  good,  teaches  him  the 
value  of  his  possession.  Were  men  born  with  those  advantages  which 
he  learns  to  possess  by  industry,  he  would  very  probably  enjoy  them 
with  a  blunter  relish  ;  it  is  by  being  naked  that  he  knows  the  value  of 
a  covering;  it  is  by  being  exposed  to  the  weather,  that  he  learns  the 
comforts  of  a  habitation.  Every  want  thus  becomes  a  means  of  plea- 
sure in  the  redressing ;  and  the  animal  that  has  most  desires,  may  be 
said  to  be  capable  of  the  greatest  variety  of  happiness. 

Besides  the  thousand  imaginary  wants  peculiar  to  man,  there  are 
two  which  he  has  in  common  with  all  other  animals,  and  which  he 
feels  in  a  more  necessary  manner  than  they.  These  are  the  wants  of 
sleep  and  hunger.  Every  animal  that  we  are  acquainted  with,  seems 
to  endure  the  want  of  these  with  much  less  injury  to  health  than 
man  ;  and  some  are  most  surprisingly  patient  in  enduring  both.  The 
little  domestic  animals  that  we  keep  about  us,  may  often  set  a  lesson 
of  calm  resignation,  in  supporting  want  and  watchfulness,  to  the  boast- 
ed philosopher.  They  receive  their  pittance  at  uncertain  intervals, 
and  wait  its  coming  with  cheerful  expectation.  We  have  instances  of 
the  dog  and  the  cat  living  in  this  manner,  without  food,  for  several 
days,  and  yet  still  preserving  their  attachment  to  the  tyrant  that  op- 
presses them  ;  still  ready  to  exert  their  little  services  for  his  amusc- 
nent  or  defence.  But  the  patience  of  these  is  nothing  to  what  the 
A'  imals  of  the  forest  endure.  As  these  mostly  live  upon  accidental 
carnage,  so  they  are  often  known  to  remain  without  food  for  several 
weeks  together.  Nature,  kindly  solicitous  for  their  support,  has  also 
contracted  their  stomachs,  to  suit  them  for  their  precarious  way  ot 
living;  and  kindly,  while  it  abridges  the  banquet,  lessens  the  necessity 
of  providing  for  it.  But  the  meaner  tribes  of  animals  are  made  still 
more  capable  of  sustaining  life  without  food,  many  of  them  lemain- 
ing  in  a  state  of  torpid  indifference  till  their  prey  approaches,  when 
ihey  jump  upon  and  seize  it.  In  this  manner,  the  snake  or  the  spider 
'.ontinue  for  several  months  together,  to  subsist  upon  a  s  ngU  meal ; 


ANIMALS.  20? 

and  some  of  the  butterfly  kind  live  upon  little  or  nothing.  But  it  is 
very  different  with  man  :  his  wants  daily  make  their  importunate  de 
mauds  ;  and  it  is  known  that  he  cannot  continue  to  live  many  days 
without  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping. 

Hunger  is  a  much  more  powerful  enemy  to  man  than  watchfulness, 
and  kills  him  much  sooner.  It  may  be  considered  as  a  disorder  that 
food  removes,  and  that  would  quickly  be  fatal,  without  its  proper  an 
tidote.  In  fact,  it  is  so  terrible  to  man,  that  to  avoid  it  he  even  en 
counters  certain  death  ;  and  rather  than  endure  its  tortures,  exchanges 
them  for  immediate  destruction.  However,  by  what  I  have  been  told, 
it  is  much  more  dreadful  in  its  approaches,  than  in  its  continuance ; 
and  the  pains  of  a  famishing  wretch  decrease,  as  his  strength  diminishes. 
In  the  beginning,  the  desire  of  food  is  dreadful  indeed,  as  we  know 
by  experience,  for  there  are  few  who  have  not,  in  some  degree,  felt 
its  approaches.  But,  after  the  first  or  second  day,  its  tortures  become 
less  terrible,  and  a  total  insensibility  at  length  comes  kindly  in  to  the- 
poor  wretch's  assistance.  I  have  talked  with  the  captain  of  a  ship, 
who  was  one  of  six  that  endured  it  in  its  extremities,  and  who  was 
the  only  person  that  had  not  lost  his  senses,  when  they  received  ac- 
cidental relief.  He  assured  me  his  pains  at  first  were  so  great  as  to 
be  often  tempted  to  eat  a  part  of  one  of  the  men  who  died,  and  which 
the  rest  of  his  crew  actually  for  some  time  lived  upon  :  he  said,  that 
during  the  continuance  of  this  paroxysm,  he  found  his  pains  insup- 
portable, and  was  desirous  at  one  time  of  anticipating  that  death 
which  he  thought  inevitable  ;  but  his  pains,  he  said,  gradually  de- 
creased, after  the  sixth  day,  (for  they  had  water  in  the  ship,  which 
kept  them  alive  so  long)  and  then  he  was  in  a  state  rather  of  languor 
than  desire ;  nor  did  he  much  wish  for  food,  except  when  he  saw  others 
eating ;  and  that  for  a  while  revived  his  appetite,  though  with  di- 
minished importunity.  The  latter  part  of  the  time,  when  his  health 
was  almost  destroyed,  a  thousand  strange  images  rose  upon  his  mind, 
and  every  one  of  his  senses  began  to  bring  him  wrong  information. 
The  most  fragrant  perfumes  appeared  to  him  to  have  a  fetid  smell ; 
and  every  thing  he  looked  at  took  a  greenish  hue,  and  sometimes  a 
yellow.  When  he  was  presented  with  food  by  the  ship's  company 
that  took  him  and  his  men  up,  (four  of  whom  died  shortly  after,)  he 
could  not  help  looking  upon  it  with  loathing,  instead  of  desire  ;  and  it 
was  not  till  after  four  days  that  his  stomach  was  brought  to  its  natural 
tone,  when  the  violence  of  his  appetite  returned  with  a  sort  of  canine 
eagerness. 

Thus  dreadful  are  the  effects  of  hunger ;  and  yet  when  we  come  to 
assign  the  cause  that  produces  them,  we  find  the  subject  involved  in 
doubt  and  intricacy.  This  longing  eagerness  is,  no  doubt,  given  for 
i  very  obvious  purpose ;  that  of  replenishing  the  body,  wasted  bv  fa- 
tigue and  perspiration.  Were  not  men  stimulated  by  such  a  pressing 
monitor,  they  might  be  apt  to  pursue  other  amusements  with  a  perse- 
verance beyond  their  power,  and  forget  the  useful  hours  of  refresh 
ment,  in  those  tempting  ones  of  pleasure.  But  hunger  makes  a  de- 
mand that  will  not  be  refused ;  and,  indeed,  the  generality  of  ma* 
kind  seldom  await  the  call. 


208  A  HISTORY  OF 

Hunger  has  been  supposed  by  some  to  arise  from  the  rubbing  of  the 
coats  of  the  stomach  against  each  other,  without  having  any  inter- 
vening substance  to  prevent  their  painful  attrition.  Others  have 
imagined  that  its  juices,  wanting  their  necessary  supply,  turn  acrid,  or 
as  some  say,  pungent,  and  thus  fret  its  internal  coats,  so  as  to  produce 
a  train  of  the  most  uneasy  sensations.  Boerhaave,  who  established 
his  reputation  in  physic  by  uniting  the  conjectures  of  all  those  that 
preceded  him,  ascribes  hunger  to  the  united  effects  of  both  these 
causes,  and  asserts,  that  the  pungency  of  the  gastric  juices,  and  thu 
attrition  of  its  coats  against  each  other,  cause  those  pains,  which  no- 
thing  but  food  can  remove.  These  juices  continuing  still  to  be  sepa- 
rated in  the  stomach,  and  every  moment  becoming  more  acrid,  mix 
with  the  blood,  and  infect  the  circulation ;  the  circulation  being  thu.« 
contaminated,  becomes  weaker,  and  more  contracted ;  and  the  whole 
nervous  frame  sympathising,  a  hectic  fever,  and  sometimes  madness, 
is  produced,  in  which  state  the  faint  wretch  expires.  In  this  manner, 
the  man  who  dies  of  hunger  may  be  said  to  be  poisoned  by  the  juices 
of  his  own  body,  and  is  destroyed  less  by  the  want  of  nourishment 
than  by  the  vitiated  qualities  of  that  which  he  had  already  taken. 

However  this  may  be,  we  have  but  few  instances  of  men  dying,  ex- 
cept at  sea,  of  absolute  hunger.  The  decline  of  those  unhappy  crea- 
tures who  are  destitute  of  food,  at  land,  being  more  slow  and  unper- 
ceived.  These,  from  often  being  in  need,  and  as  often  receiving  an 
accidental  supply,  pass  their  lives  between  surfeiting  and  repining ; 
and  their  constitution  is  impaired  by  insensible  degrees.  Man  is  unfit 
for  a  state  of  precarious  expectation.  That  share  of  provident  pre- 
caution which  incites  him  to  lay  up  stores  for  a  distant  day,  becomes 
his  torment,  when  totally  unprovided  against  an  immediate  call.  The 
lower  race  of  animals,  when  satisfied,  for  the  instant  moment,  are 
perfectly  happy :  but  it  is  otherwise  with  man ;  his  mind  anticipates 
distress,  and  feels  the  pangs  of  want  even  before  it  arrests  him.  Thus 
the  mind,  being  continually  harassed  by  the  situation,  it  at  length  in- 
fluences the  constitution,  and  unfits  it  for  all  its  functions.  Some  cruel 
disorder,  but  no  way  like  hunger,  seizes  the  unhappy  sufferer ;  so  that 
almost  all  those  men  who  have  thus  long  lived  by  chance,  and  whose 
every  day  may  be  considered  as  a  happy  escape  from  famine,  are 
known  at  last  to  die  in  reality,  of  a  disorder  caused  by  hunger,  but 
which,  in  the  common  language,  is  often  called  a  broken  heart.  Some 
of  these  I  have  known  myself,  when  very  little  able  to  relieve  them  : 
and  I  have  been  told  by  a  very  active  and  worthy  magistrate,  that 
the  number  of  such  as  die  in  London  for  want,  is  much  greater  than 
one  would  imagine — I  think  he  talked  of  two  thousand  in  a  year ! 

But  how  numerous  soever  those  who  die  of  hunger  may  be,  many 
times  -greater,  on  the  other  hand,  are  the  number  of  those  who  die 
by  repletion.  It  is  not  the  province  of  the  present  page  to  speculate 
with  the  physician  upon  the  danger  of  surfeits ;  or  with  the  moralist, 
upon  the  nauseousness  of  gluttony ;  it  will  only  be  proper  to  observe, 
that  as  nothing  is  so  prejudicial  to  health  as  hunger  by  constraint,  so 
nothing  is  more  beneficial  to  the  constitution  than  voluntary  absti 
nence.  It  was  not  without  reason  that  religion  enjoined  this  duty ; 
siuce  it  answered  the  double  purpose  of  restoring  the  health  oppressed 


ANIMALS.  209 

by  luxury,  and  diminished  the  consumption  of  provisions,  so  that  3 
part  might  come  to  the  poor.  It  should  be  the  business  of  the  legis- 
lature, therefore,  to  enforce  this  divine  precept ;  and  thus,  by  restrain- 
ing one  part  of  mankind  in  the  use  of  their  superfluities,  to  consult  for 
the  benefit  of  those  who  want  the  necessaries  of  life.  The  injunc- 
*ions  for  abstinence  are  strict  over  the  whole  continent ;  and  were 
rigorously  observed,  even  among  ourselves,  for  a  long  time  after  the 
Reformation.  Queen  Elizabeth,  by  giving  her  commands  upon  this 
head  the  air  of  a  political  injunction,  lessened,  in  a  great  measure, 
and,  in  my  opinion,  very  unwisely,  the  religious  force  of  the  obliga- 
tion. She  enjoined  that  her  subjects  should  fast  from  flesh  on  Fridays 
and  Saturdays,  but  at  the  same  time  declared,  that  this  was  not  com- 
manded from  motives  of  religion,  as  if  there  were  any  differences  in 
meals,  but  merely  to  favour  the  consumption  of  fish,  and  thus  to  mul- 
tiply the  number  of  mariners,  and  also  to  spare  the  stock  of  sheep, 
which  might  be  more  benef  rial  in  another  way.  In  this  manner  the 
injunction  defeated  its  own  force ;  and  this  most  salutary  law  became 
no  longer  binding,  when  it  was  supposed  to  come  purely  from  man. 
How  far  it  may  be  enjoined  in  the  scriptures,  I  will  not  take  upon  me 
to  say  ;  but  this  may  be  asserted,  that  if  the  utmost  benefit  to  the  in- 
dividual, and  the  most  extensive  advantage  to  society,  serve  to  mark 
any  institution  as  of  Heaven,  this  or  abstinence  may  be  reckoned 
among  the  foremost. 

Were  we  to  give  a  history  of  the  various  be'nefits  that  have  arisen 
from  this  command,  and  how  conducive  it  has  been  to  long  life,  the 
instances  would  fatigue  with  their  multiplicity.  Tt  is  surprising  to  what 
a  great  age  the  primitive  Christians  of  the  East,  who  retired  from  per- 
secution in  the  deserts  of  Arabia,  continued  to  'ive  in  all  the  bloom 
of  health,  and  yet  all  the  rigours  of  abstemious  discipline.  Their  com- 
mon allowance,  as  we  are  told,  for  four  and  twenty  hours,  was  twelve 
ounces  of  bread,  and  nothing  but  water.  On  this  simple  beverage 
St.  Anthony  is  said  to  have  Jived  a  hundred  and  five  years ;  James  the 
hermit,  a  hundred  and  four ;  Arsenius,  tutor  to  the  emperor  Arca- 
dius,  a  hundred  and  twenty ;  St.  Epiphanius,  a  hundred  and  fifteen  ; 
Simeon,  a  hundred  and  twelve  ;  and  Rombald,  a  hundred  and  twenty. 
In  this  manner  did  tb*ise  holy,  temperate  men  live  to  an  extreme  old 
ago,  kept  cheerful  by  strong  hopes,  and  healthful  by  moderate  labour. 

Abstinence  which  is  thus  voluntary,  may  be  much  more  easily  sup- 
ported than  constrained  hunger.  Man  is  said  to  live  without  food  for 
seven  days,  which  is  the  usual  limit  assigned  him ;  and  perhaps  in  a 
slate  of  constraint,  ihis  is  ihe  longest  time  he  can  survive  the  want  ol 
it.  But  in  cases  of  voluntary  abstinence,  of  sickness,  or  sleeping,  he 
has  been  known  to  live  much  longer. 

In  the  records  of  the  Tower,  ihere  is  an  account  of  a  Scotchman, 
imprisoned  for  felony,  who,  for  the  space  of  six  weeks,  took  not  the 
leasl  sustenance,  being  exactly  walched  during  ihe  whole  time ;  and 
for  this  he  received  ihe  king's  pardon. 

When  the  American  Indians  undertake  long  journies,  and  when, 
consequently,  a  stock  of  provisions  sufficient  to  support  them  ihe 
whole  way,  would  be  more  lhan  they  could  carry,  in  order  to  ooviat* 
this  incoc''enience,  inslead  of  carrying  ihe  necessary  quantity,  me. 

VOL.  O 


210  A  HISTORY  OF 

contrive  a  method  of  palliating  their  hunger  by  swallowing  pills  made 
of  calcined  shells  and  tobacco.  These  pills  take  away  all  appetite,  by 
producing  a  temporary  disorder  in  the  stomach  ;  and,  no  doubt,  the 
i'requent  repetition  of  this  wretched  expedient  must  at  last  be  fatal. 
By  this  means,  however,  they  continue  several  days  without  eating, 
cheerfully  bearing  such  extremes  of  fatigue  and  watching,  as  would 
quickly  destroy  men  bred  up  in  a  greater  state  of  ^delicacy.  For  those 
arts  by  which  we  learn  to  obviate  our  necessities,  do  not  fail  to  unfit 
us  for  their  accidental  encounter. 

Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  man  is  less  able  to  support  hunger  than 
any  other  animal ;  and  he  is  not  better  qualified  to  support  a  state  of 
watchfulness.  Indeed,  sleep  seems  much  more  necessary  to  him,  than 
to  any  other  creature :  as,  when  awake,  he  may  be  said  to  exhaust  a 
greater  proportion  of  the  nervous  fluid,  and  consequently  to  stand 
in  need  of  an  adequate  supply.  Other  animals,  when  most  awake, 
are  but  little  removed  from  a  state  of  slumber ;  their  feeble  faculties, 
imprisoned  in  matter,  and  rather  exerted  by  impulse  than  deliberation 
require  sleep  rather  as  a  cessation  from  motion  than  from  thinking. 
But  it  is  otherwise  with  man  ;  his  ideas,  fatigued  with  their  various 
excursions,  demand  a  cessation,  not  less  than  the  body,  from  toil ;  and 
he  is  the  only  creature  that  seems  to  require  sleep  from  double  mo- 
tives :  not  less  for  the  refreshment  of  the  mental,  than  of  the  bodily 
frame. 

There  are  some  lower  animals,  indeed,  that  seem  to  spend  the 
greatest  part  of  their  lives  in  sleep  ;  but,  properly  speaking,  the  sleep 
of  such  may  be  considered  as  a  kind  of  death,  and  their  waking  a  re 
surrection.  Flies  and  insects  are  said  to  be  asleep  at  a  time  when  all 
the  vital  motions  have  ceased  ;  without  respiration,  without  any  cii- 
culation  of  their  juices,  if  cut  in  pieces,  they  do  not  awake,  nor  does 
any  fluid  ooze  out  at  the  wound.  These  may  be  considered  rather  as 
congealed  than  as  sleeping  animals ;  and  their  rest,  during  winter, 
rather  as  a  cessation  from  life  than  a  necessary  refreshment ;  but  in 
the  higher  races  of  animals,  whose  blood  is  not  thus  congealed  and 
thawed  by  heat,  these  all  bear  the  want  of  sleep  much  better  than 
man  ;  and  some  of  them  continue  a  long  time  without  seeming  to  take 
any  refreshment  from  it  whatsoever. 

But  man  is  more  feeble  ;  he  requires  its  due  return  ;  and  if  it  fails 
to  pay  the  accustomed  visit,  his  whole  frame  is  in  a  short  time  thrown 
into  disorder ;  his  appetite  ceases ;  his  spirits  are  dejected  ;  his  pulse 
becomes  quicker  and  harder ;  and  his  mind,  abridged  of  its  slumber- 
ing visions,  begins  to  adopt  waking  dreams.  A  thousand  strange 
phantoms  arise,  which  come  and  go  without  his  will :  these,  which  are 
transient  in  the  beginning,  at  last  take  firm  possession  of  the  mind, 
which  yields  to  their  dominion,  and  after  a  long  struggle,  runs  into 
confirmed  madness.  In  that  horrid  state,  the  mind  may  be  considered 
as  a  city  without  walls,  open  to  every  insult,  and  paying  homage  to 
every  invader ;  every  idea  that  then  starts  witn  any  force,  becomes  a 
••eality ;  and  the  reason,  over-fatigued  with  its  former  importunities, 
makes  no  head  against  the  tyrannical  invasion,  but  submits  to  it  froui 
mere  imbecility. 


ANIMALS.  211 

L>ut  it  is  happy  for  mankind,  that  this  state  of  inquietude  is  seldom 
driven  to  an  extreme  ;  and  that  there  are  medicines  which  seldom  fail 
to  give  relief.  However,  man  finds  it  more  difficult  than  any  other 
animal  to  procure  sleep  ;  and  some  are  obliged  to  court  its  approaches 
for  several  hours  together  before  they  incline  to  rest.  It  is  in  vain 
that  all  light  is  excluded  ;  that  all  sounds  are  removed  ;  that  warmth 
and  softness  conspire  to  invite  it :  the  restless  and  busy  mind  still  re- 
tains its  former  activity;  and  reason,  that  wishes  to  lay  down  the  reins, 
in  spite  of  herself,  is  obliged  to  maintain  them.  In  this  disagreeable 
state,  the  mind  passes  from  thought  to  thought,  willing  to  lose  the  dis- 
tinctness of  perception  by  increasing  the  multitude  of  the  images.  At 
last,  when  the  approaches  of  sleep  are  near,  every  object  of  the  ima- 
gination begins  to  mix  with  that  next  it ;  their  outlines  become  in  a 
manner  rounder ;  a  part  of  their  distinctions  fade  away ;  and  sleep, 
that  ensues,  fashions  out  a  dream  from  the  remainder. 

If  then  it  should  be  asked  from  what  cause  this  state  of  repose  pro- 
ceeds, or  in  what  manner  sleep  thus  binds  us  for  several  hours  toge- 
ther, I  must  fairly  confess  my  ignorance,  although  it  is  easy  to  tell 
what  philosophers  say  upon  the  subject.  Sleep,  says  one  of  them,* 
consists  in  a  scarcity  of  spirits,  by  which  the  orifices  or  pores  of  the 
nerves  in  the  brain,  through  which  the  spirits  used  to  flow  into  the 
nerves,  being  no  longer  kept  open  by  the  frequency  of  the  spirits, 
shut  of  themselves  ;  thus  the  nerves,  wanting  a  new  supply  of  spirits, 
become  lax,  and  unfit  to  convey  any  impression  to  the  brain.  All  this, 
how(  ver,  is  explaining  a  very  great  obscurity  by  somewhat  more  ob- 
scure ;  leaving,  therefore,  those  spirits  to  open  and  shut  the  entrances 
to  the  brain,  let  us  be  contented  with  simply  enumerating  the  effects 
of  sleep  upon  the  human  constitution. 

In  sleep,  the  whole  nervous  frame  is  relaxed,  while  the  heart  and 
the  lungs  seem  more  forcibly  exerted.  This  fuller  circulation  pro- 
duces also  a  swelling  of  the  muscles,  as  they  always  find  who  sleep 
with  ligatures  on  any  part  of  their  body.  The  increased  circulation 
also,  may  be  considered  as  a  kind  of  exercise,  which  is  continued 
through  the  frame ;  and,  by  this,  the  perspiration  becomes  more  co- 
pious, although  the  appetite  for  food  is  entirely  taken  away.  Too 
much  sleep  dulls  the  apprehension,  weakens  the  memory,  and  unfits 
the  body  for  labour.  On  the  contrary,  sleep  too  much  abridged,  ema- 
ciates the  frame,  produces  melancholy,  and  consumes  the  constitution. 
It  requires  some  care,  therefore,  to  regulate  the  quantity  of  sleep,  and 
just  to  take  as  much  as  will  completely  restore  nature,  without  op- 
pressing it.  The  poor,  as  Otway  says,  sleep  little ;  forced,  by  their 
situation,  to  lengthen  out  their  labour  to  their  necessities,  they  have 
but  a  short  interval  for  this  pleasing  refreshment ;  and  I  have  ever 
been  of  opinion,  that  bodily  labour  demands  a  less  quantity  of  sleep 
ihan  mental.  Labourers  and  artizans  are  generally  satisfied  with  about" 
fteven  hours  ;  but  I  have  known  some  scholars  who  usually  slept  nine-, 
ind  perceived  their  faculties  no  way  impaired  by  oversleeping. 

The  famous  Philip  Barretiere,  who  was  considered  as  a  prodigy  oj 
learning  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  was  known  to  sleep  regularly  twelve 


212  A  HISTOR     OF 

houra  i  t.ie  twenty-four ;  the  extreme  activity  of  his  mind,  when 
awake,  in  son  e  measure  called  for  an  adequate  alternation  of  repose- 
and,  lam  apt  to  think,  that  when  students  stint  themselves  in  this  par 
ticular,  they  lessen  the  waking  powers  of  the  imagination,  and  weaken 
its  most  strenuous  exertions.  Animals  that  seldom  think,  as  was  said, 
can  very  easily  dispense  with  sleep ;  and  of  men,  such  as  think  least, 
will,  very  probably,  be  satisfied  with  the  smallest  share.  A  life  ol 
study,  it  is  well  known,  unfits  the  body  for  receiving  this  gentle  re- 
freshment;  the  approaches  of  sleep  are  driven  off  by  thinking:  when, 
therefore,  it  comes  at  last,  we  should  not  be  too  ready  to  interrupt  its 
continuance. 

Sleep  is,  indeed,  to  some,  a  very  agreeable  period  of  their  existence 
and  it  has  been  a  question  in  the  schools,  which  was  most  happy,  the 
man  who  was  a  beggar  by  night,  *nd  a  king  by  day ;  or  he  who  was  a 
beggar  by  day,  and  a  king  by  night  ?  It  is  given  in  favour  of  the 
nightly  monarch,  by  him  who  first  started  the  question:  "For  the 
dream,"  says  he,  "  gives  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  dignity,  without  its 
attendant  inconveniences :  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  king,  who 
supposes  himself  degraded,  feels  all  the  misery  of  his  fallen  fortune, 
without  trying  to  find  the  comforts  of  his  humble  situation.  Thus,  by 
day,  both  states  have  their  peculiar  distresses :  but,  by  night,  the  ex- 
alted beggar  is  perfectly  blessed,  and  the  king  completely  miserable." 
All  this,  however,  is  rather  fanciful  than  just ;  the  pleasure  dreams 
can  give  us,  seldom  reaches  to  our  waking  pitch  of  happiness:  the 
mind  often,  in  the  midst  of  its  highest  visionary  satisfactions,  demands 
of  itself,  whether  it  does  not  owe  them  to  a  dream  ;  and  frequently 
awakes  with  the  reply. 

But  it  is  seldom,  except  in  cases  of  the  highest  delight,  or  the  most 
extreme  uneasiness,  that  the  mind  has  power  thus  to  disengage  itself 
from  the  dominion  of  fancy.  In  the  ordinary  course  of  its  operations, 
it  submits  to  those  numberless  phantastic  images  that  succeed  each 
other,  and  which,  like  many  of  our  waking  thoughts,  are  generally 
forgotten.  Of  these,  however,  if  any,  by  their  oddity,  or  their  con- 
tinuance,  affect  us  strongly,  they  are  then  remembered ;  and  there 
have  been  some  who  felt  their  impressions  so  strongly  as  to  mistake 
them  for  realities,  and  to  rank  them  among  the  past  actions  of  their 
lives. 

There  are  others  upon  whom  dreams  seem  to  have  a  very  different 
effect,  and  who,  without  seeming  to  remember  their  impressions  the 
next  morning,  have  yet  shown  by  their  actions  during  sleep,  that  they 
were  very  powerfully  impelled  by  their  dominion.  We  have  number- 
'ess  instances  of  such  persons,  who,  while  asleep,  have  performed 
many  of  the  ordinary  duties  to  which  they  have  been  accustomed 
when  waking ;  and,  with  a  ridiculous  industry,  have  completed  by 
night  what  they  failed  doing  by  day.  We  are  told,  in  the  German 
Ephemerides,  of  a  young  student  who,  being  enjoined  a  severe  exer- 
cise by  his  tutor,  went  to  bed  despairing  of  accomplishing  it.  The 
next  morning  awaking,  to  his  great  surprise,  he  found  the  task  fairly 
written  out,  and  finished  in  his  own  hand-writing. 

He  was  at  first,  as  the  account  has  it,  induced  to  ascribe  this  strange 
production  to  the  operation  of  an  infernal  agent ;  but  his  tutor,  willing 


ANIMALS.  2/3 

to  examine  the  affair  to  the  bottom,  set  him  another  exercise  still 
more  severe  than  the  former,  and  took  precautions  to  observe  his 
conduct  the  whole  night.  The  young  gentleman,  upon  being  so  se- 
verely tasked,  felt  the  same  inquietude  that  he  had  done  on  the  for- 
mer occasion ;  went  to  bed  gloomy  and  pensive,  pondering  on  the 
next  day's  duty,  and  after  some  time,  fell  asleep.  But  shortly  after, 
his  tutor,  who  continued  to  observe  him  from  a  place  that  was  con- 
cealed, was  surprised  to  see  him  get  up,  and  very  deliberately  go  to 
the  table,  where  he  took  out  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  drew  himself  a 
chair,  and  sat  very  methodically  to  thinking :  it  seems,  that  his  being 
asleep  only  served  to  strengthen  the  powers  of  his  imagination ;  for 
he  very  quickly  and  easily  went  through  the  task  assigned  him,  put 
his  chair  aside,  and  then  returned  to  bed  to  take  out  the  rest  of  his 
nap.  What  credit  we  are  to  give  to  this  account,  I  will  not  pretend 
to  determine ;  but  this  may  be  said,  that  the  book  from  whence  it  is 
taken,  has  some  good  marks  of  veracity ;  for  it  is  very  learned,  and 
very  dull,  and  is  written  in  a  country  noted,  if  not  for  truth,  at  least 
for  want  of  invention. 

The  ridiculous  history  of  Arlotto  is  well  known,  who  has  had  a 
volume  written,  containing  a  narrative  of  the  actions  of  his  life,  not 
one  of  which  was  performed  while  he  was  awake.  He  was  an  Italian 
Franciscan  friar,  extremely  rigid  in  his  manners,  and  remarkably  de- 
vout and  learned  in  his  daily  conversation.  By  night,  however,  and 
during  his  sleep,  he  played  a  very  different  character  from  what  he  did 
by  day,  and  was  often  detected  in  very  atrocious  crimes.  He  was  at 
one  time  detected  in  actually  attempting  a  rape,  and  did  not  awake 
till  the  next  morning,  when  he  was  surprised  to  find  himself  in  the 
hands  of  justice.  His  brothers  of  the  convent  often  watched  him 
while  he  went  very  deliberately  into  the  chapel,  and  there  attempted 
to  commit  sacrilege.  They  sometimes  permitted  him  to  carry  the 
chalice  and  the  vestments  away  into  his  own  chamber,  and  the  next 
morning  amused  themselves  at  the  poor  man's  consternation  for  what 
he  had  done  But  of  all  his  sleeping  transgressions,  that  was  the 
most  ridiculous  in  which  he  was  called  to  pray  for  the  soul  of  a  per- 
son departed.  Arlotto,  after  having  devoutly  performed  his  duty,  re- 
tired to  a  chamber  which  was  shown  him  to  rest ;  but  there  he  had 
no  sooner  fallen  asleep  than  he  began  to  reflect  that  the  dead  body 
had  got  a  ring  upon  one  of  the  fingers,  which  might  be  useful  to  him  : 
accordingly,  with  a  pious  resolution  of  stealing  it,  he  went  down,  un- 
dressed as  he  was,  into  a  room  full  of  women,  and,  with  great  com- 
posure, endeavoured  to  seize  the  ring.  The  consequence  was,  that 
he  was  taken  before  the  Inquisition  for  witchcraft ;  and  the  poor 
creature  had  like  to  have  been  condemned,  till  his  peculiar  character 
accidentally  came  to  be  known :  however,  he  was  ordered  to  remain 
for  the  rest  of  life  in  his  own  convent,  and  upon  no  account  whatso  ^ 
ever  to  stir  abroad. 

What  are  we  to  say  of  such  actions  as  these :  or  how  account  for 
this  operation  of  the  mind  in  dreaming?  It  should  seem,  that  the 
•magination,  by  day,  as  well  as  by  night,  is  always  employed  ;  and 
that,  often  against  our  wills,  it  intrudes  where  it  is  least  commanded  or 
desi-sd.  While  awake,  and  in  health,  this  busy  principle  cannot  much 


214  A  HISTORY  OF 

delude  us  :  U  maj  build  castles  in  the  air,  and  raise  a  thousand  phau 
toras  before  us ;  bat  we  have  every  one  of  the  senses  alive  to  be;ir 
testimony  to  its  falsehood.  Our  eyes  show  us  that  the  prospect  is 
not  present ;  our  hearing  and  our  touch  depose  against  its  reality  ; 
and  our  taste  and  smelling  are  equally  vigilant  in  detecting  the  im- 
postor. Reason,  therefore,  at  once  gives  judgment  upon  the  cause, 
and  the  vagrant  intruder,  Imagination,  is  imprisoned,  or  banished  from 
the  mind.  But  in  sleep  it  is  otherwise ;  having,  as  much  as  possible, 
put  our  senses  from  their  duty,  having  closed  the  eyes  from  seeing,  and 
the  ears,  taste,  and  smelling,  from  their  peculiar  functions,  and  having 
diminished  even  the  touch  itself,  by  all  the  arts  of  softness,  the  ima- 
gination is  then  left  to  riot  at  large,  and  to  lead  the  understanding 
without  an  opposer.  Every  incursive  idea  then  becomes  a  reality 
and  the  mind,  not  having  one  power  that  can  prove  the  illusion,  takes 
them  for  truths.  As  in  madness,  the  senses,  from  struggling  with  the 
imagination,  are  at  length  forced  to  submit ;  so  in  sleep,  they  seem  for 
a  while  soothed  into  the  like  submission  :  the  smallest  violence  exerted 
upon  any  one  of  them,  however,  rouses  all  the  rest  in  their  mutual 
defence  ;  and  the  imagination,  that  had  for  a  while  told  its  thousand 
falsehoods,  is  totally  driven  away,  or  only  permitted  to  pass  under  the 
custody  of  such  as  are  every  moment  ready  to  detect  its  impos?*»on. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

OP  SEEING.* 

"  HAVING  mentioned  the  senses  as  correcting  the  errors  of  the  ima 
gination,  and  as  forcing  it,  in  some  measure,  to  bring  us  just  infor- 
mation, it  will  naturally  follow,  that  we  should  examine  the  nature  ot 
those  senses  themselves  :  we  shall  thus  be  enabled  to  see  how  far  they 
also  impose  on  us,  and  how  far  they  contribute  to  correct  each  other. 
Let  it  be  observed,  however,  that  in  this  we  are  neither  giving  a  trea- 
tise of  optics,  or  phonics,  but  an  history  of  our  own  perceptions  :  and 
to  those  we  chiefly  confine  ourselves." 

The  eyes  very  soon  begin  to  be  formed  in  the  human  embryo,  and 
in  the  chicken  also.  Of  all  the  parts  which  the  animal  has  double, 
the  eyes  are  produced  the  soonest,  and  appear  the  most  prominent. 
It  is  true,  indeed,  that  in  viviparous  animals,  and  particularly  in  man, 
they  are  not  so  large  in  proportion,  at  first,  as  in  the  oviparous  kinds  ; 
nevertheless,  they  are  more  speedily  developed,  when  they  begin  to 
appear,  than  any  other  parts  of  the  body.  It  is  the  same  with  the 
organ  of  hearing;  the  little  bones  that  compose  the  internal  parts  of 
the  ear  are  entirely  formed  before  the  other  bones,  though  much 
larger,  have  acquired  any  part  of  their  growth  or  solidity.  Hence  it 
appears,  that  those  parts  of  the  body  which  are  furnished  with  the 

*  This  chapter  is  taken  from  M  .  tfuffon.  I  believe  the  reader  will  readily  excuse  anj 
apology ;  and,  perhaps,  may  wish  that  I  ha«l  taken  this  liberty  much  moie  frcqueu'Jr 
What  1  add  is  marked,  as  in  a  former  instance,  whb  inverted  commas. 


ANIMALS.  215 

greatest  quantity  of  the  nerves,  are  the  first  in  forming.  Thus  the 
orain  and  the  spinal  marrow  are  the  first  seen  begun  in  the  embryo ; 
ind,  in  general,  it  may  be  said,  that  wherever  the  nerves  go,  or  send 
their  branches  in  great  numbers,  there  the  parts  are  soonest  begun, 
ind  the  most  completely  finished. 

If  we  examine  the  eyes  of  a  child  some  hours,  or  even  some  days 
after  its  birth,  it  will  be  easily  discerned  that  it,  as  yet,  makes  no  use 
of  them.  The  humours  of  the  organ  not  having  acquired  a  sufficient 
consistence,  the  rays  of  light  strike  but  confused-ly  upon  the  retina,  or 
expansion  of  the  nerves  at  the  back  of  the  eye.  It  is  not  till  about  a 
month  after  they  are  born,  that  children  fix  them  upon  objects;  for, 
before  that  time,  they  turn  them  indiscriminately  every  where,  with- 
out appearing  to  be  affected  by  any.  At  six  or  seven  weeks  old,  they 
plainly  discover  a  choice  in  the  objects  of  their  attention;  they  fix 
their  eyes  upon  the  most  brilliant  colours,  and  seem  peculiarly  de- 
sirous of  turning  them  towards  the  light.  Hitherto,  however,  they 
only  seem  to  fortify  the  organ  for  seeing  distinctly ;  but  they  have 
still  many  illusions  to  correct. 

The  first  great  error  in  vision  is,  that  the  eye  inverts  every  object: 
and  it  in  reality  appears  to  the  child,  until  the  touch  has  served  to 
undeceive  it,  turned  upside  down.  A  second  error  in  vision  is,  that 
every  object  appears  double.  The  same  object  forms  itself  distinctly 
upon  each  eye,  and  is  consequently  seen  twice.  This  error,  also,  can 
only  be  corrected  by  the  touch ;  and  although,  in  reality,  every  ob- 
ject we  see  appears  inverted  and  double,  yet  the  judgment  and  habit 
have  so  often  corrected  the  sense,  that  we  no  longer  submit  to  its  im- 
position, but  see  every  object  in  its  just  position,  the  very  instant  it 
appears.  Were  we,  therefore,  deprived  of  feeling,  our  eyes  would 
not  only  misrepresent  the  situation,  but  also  the  number  of  all  things 
around  us. 

To  convince  us  that  we  see  objects  inverted,  we  have  only  to  ob- 
serve the  manner  in  which  images  are  represented,  coming  through  a 
small  hole,  in  a  darkened  room.  If  such  a  small  hole  be  made  in  a 
dark  room,  so  that  no  light  can  come  in,  but  through  it,  all  the  objects 
without  will  be  painted  on  the  wall  behind,  but  in  an  inverted  posi- 
tion, their  heads  downwards.  For  as  all  the  rays  which  pass  from  the 
different  parts  of  the  object  without,  cannot  enter  the  hole  in  the 
same  extent  which  they  had  in  leaving  the  object ;  since,  if  so,  they 
would  require  the  aperture  to  be  as  large  as  the  object ;  and,  as  each 
part,  and  every  point  of  the  object,  sends  forth  the  image  of  itself  on 
every  side,  and  the  rays,  which  form  these  images,  pass  from  all  points 
of  the  object  as  from  so  many  centres,  so  such  only  can  pass  through 
the  small  aperture  as  come  in  opposite  directions.  Thus  the  little 
aperture  becomes  a  centre  for  the  entire  object ;  through  which  the 
rays  from  the  upper  parts,  as  well  as  from  the  lower  parts  of  it,  pass 
in  converging  directions ;  and,  consequently,  they  must  cross  each 
other  in  the  central  point,  and  thus  paint  the  objects  behind,  upon  thu 
wall,  in  an  inverted  position. 

It  is  in  like  manner  easy  to  conceive,  that  we  see  all  objects  double, 
whatever  our  present  sensations  may  seem  to  tell  us  to  the  contrary 
For,  to  convince  us  of  this,  we  have  only  to  compare  the  situation  of 


216  A  HISTORY  OF 

any  one  object  on  shutting  one  eye,  and  then  compare  the  same  situa- 
tion by  shutting  the  other.  If,  for  instance,  we  hold  up  a  finger,  and 
shut  the  right  eye,  we  shall  find  it  hide  a  certain  part  of  the  room  ;  if 
again  reshutting  the  other  eye,  we  shall  find  that  part  of  the  room 
visible,  and  the  finger  seeming  to  cover  a  part  of  the  room  that  had 
been  visible  before.  If  we  open  both  eyes,  however,  the  part  covered 
will  appear  to  lie  between  the  two  extremes.  But,  the  truth  is,  we  see 
the  object  our  finger  had  covered,  one  image  of  it  to  the  right,  and 
the  other  to  the  left ;  but,  from  habit,  suppose  that  we  see  but  one 
image  placed  between  both,  our  sense  of  feeling  having  corrected  the 
errors  of  sight.  And  thus,  also,  if  instead  of  two  eyes  we  had  two 
hundred,  we  should  fancy  the  objects  increased  in  proportion,  until 
our  sense  had  corrected  the  errors  of  another. 

"  The  having  two  eyes  might  thus  be  said  to  be  rather  an  inconve- 
nience than  a  benefit,  since  one  eye  would  answer  the  purposes  of 
sight  as  well,  and  be  less  liable  to  illusion.  But  it  is  otherwise ;  two 
eyes  greatly  contribute,  if  not  to  distinct,  at  least  extensive  vision.* 
When  an  object  is  placed  at  a  moderate  distance,  by  the  means  of 
both  eyes  we  see  a  larger  share  of  it  than  we  possibly  could  with  one ; 
tne  right  eye  seeing  a  greater  portion  of  its  right  side,  and  the  left  eye 
of  its  correspondent  side.  Thus  both  eyes,  in  some  measure,  see 
round  the  object ;  and  it  is  this  that  gives  it,  in  nature,  that  bold  re- 
lieve, or  swelling,  with  which  they  appear,  and  which  no  painting, 
how  exquisite  soever,  can  attain  to.  The  painter  must  be  contented 
with  shading  on  a  flat  surface ;  but  the  eyes,  in  observing  nature,  do 
not  behold  the  shading  only,  but  a  part  of  the  figure  also,  that  lies  be- 
hind these  very  shadings,  which  gives  it  that  swelling  which  painters 
so  ardently  desire,  but  can  never  fully  imitate. 

"  There  is  another  defect,  which  either  of  the  eyes,  taken  singly, 
would  have,  but  which  is  corrected  by  having  the  organ  double.  In 
either  eye  there  is  a  point,  which  has  no  vision  whatsoever ;  so  that 
if  one  oT  them  only  is  employed  in  seeing,  there  is  a  part  of  the  ob- 
ject to  which  it  is  always  totally  blind.  This  is  that  part  of  the  optic 
nerve  where  its  vein  and  artery  run  ;  which  being  insensible,  that 
point  of  the  object  that  is  painted  there  must  continue  unseen.  To 
be  convinced  of  this,  we  have  only  to  try  a  very  easy  experiment.  If 
we  take  three  black  patches,  and  stick  them  upon  a  white  wall,  about 
a  foot  distant  from  each  other,  each  about  as  high  as  the  eye  that  is 
to  observe  them  ;  then  retiring  six  or  seven  feet  back,  and  shutting 
one  eye,  by  trying  for  some  time,  we  shall  find,  that  while  we  distinctly 
behold  the  black  spots  that  are  to  the  right  and  left,  that  vvhich  .'s  in 
the  middle  remains  totally  unseen.  Or,  in  other  words,  when  we 
bring  that  part  of  the  eye,  where  the  optic  artery  runs,  to  fall  upon 
the  object,  it  will  then  become  invisible.  This  defect,  however,  in 
either  eye,  is  always  corrected  uy  both,  since  the  part  of  the  object 
that  is  unseen  by  one,  will  be  very  distinctly  perceived  by  the  other." 

Beside  the  former  defects,  we  can  have  no  idea  of  distances  from 
the  sight,  without  the  help  of  touch.  Naturally,  every  object  «ve  see 
Hppears  to  be  within  our  eyes ;  and  a  child,  who  has  as  y«t  nwdo  bin 

*  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 


ANIMALS.  21* 

little  use  of  the  sense  of  feeling,  must  suppose  that  every  thiug  it 
sees  makes  a  part  of  itself.  Such  objects  are  only  seen  more  or  less 
bulky  as  they  approach  or  recede  from  its  eyes ;  so  that  a  fly  that  is 
near  will  appear  larger  than  an  ox  at  a  distance.  It  is  experience 
alone  that  can  rectify  this  mistake ;  and  a  long  acquaintance  with  the 
real  size  of  every  object,  quickly  assures  us  of  the  distance  at  which 
it  is  seen. — The  last  man  in  a  file  of  soldiers  appears  in  reality  much 
less,  perhaps  ten  times  more  diminutive,  than  the  man  next  to  us; 
however,  we  do  not  perceive  this  difference,  but  continue  to  think  him 
of  equal  stature ;  for  the  numbers  we  have  seen  thus  lessened  by  dis- 
tance, and  have  found,  by  repeated  experience,  to  be  of  the  natural 
size  when  we  come  closer,  instantly  corrects  the  sense,  and  every  ob- 
ject is  perceived  with  nearly  its  natural  proportion.  But  it  is  other- 
wise, if  we  observe  objects  in  such  situations  as  we  have  not  had  suf- 
ficient experience  to  correct  the  errors  of  the  eye ;  if,  for  instance,  we 
look  at  men  from  the  top  of  a  high  steeple,  they,  in  that  case,  appear 
very  much  diminished,  as  we  have  not  had  a  habit  of  correcting  the 
sense  in  that  position. 

Although  a  small  degree  of  reflection  will  serve  to  convince  us  of 
the  truth  of  these  positions,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  strengthen  them 
by  an  authority  which  cannot  be  disputed.  Mr.  Cheselden  having 
couched  a  boy  of  thirteen  of  a  cataract,  who  had  hitherto  been  blind, 
and  thus  at  once  having  restored  him  to  sight,  curiously  marked  the 
progress  of  his  mind  upon  that  occasion.  This  youth,  though  he  had 
been  till  then  incapable  of  seeing,  yet  was  not  totally  blind,  but  could 
tell  day  from  night,  as  persons,  in  his  situation  always  may.  He  could 
also,  with  a  strong  light,  distinguish  black  from  white,  and  either  from 
the  vivid  colour  of  scarlet:  however,  he  saw  nothing  of  the  form  of 
bodies  ;  and,  without  a  bright  light,  not  even  colours  themselves.  He 
was,  at  first,  couched  only  in  one  of  his  eyes ;  and  when  he  saw  for 
the  first  time,  he  was  so  far  from  judging  of  distances,  that  he  sup- 
posed his  eyes  touched  every  object  that  he  saw,  in  the  same  manner 
as  his  hands  might  be  said  to  feel  them.  The  objects  that  were  most 
agreeable  to  him  were  such  as  were  of  plain  surfaces  and  regular 
figures;  though  he  could  as  yet  make  no  judgment  whatever  of  their 
different  forms,  nor  give  a  reason  why  one  pleased  him  more  than 
another.  Although  he  could  form  some  idea  of  colours  during  his 
state  of  blindness,  yet  thnt  was  not  sufficient  to  direct  him  at  present; 
and  he  could  scarcely  be  persuaded  that  the  colours  he  now  saw  wen- 
the  same  with  those  he  had  formerly  conceived  such  erroneous  ideas 
of.  He  delighted  most  in  green;  but  black  objects,  as  if  giving  hire- 
fen  idea  of  his  former  blindness,  he  regarded  with  horror.  He  had,  as 
was  said,  no  idea  of  forms;  and  was  unable  to  distinguish  one  object 
from  another,  though  never  so  different.  When  those  things  were 
shown  him,  which  he  had  been  formerly  familiarized  to,  by  his  feei- 
ng, he  beheld  them  with  earnestness,  in  order  to  remember  tnem  a 
second  time ;  but,  as  he  had  too  many  to  recollect  at  once,  he  forgot 
the  greatest  number;  and  for  one  he  could  tell,  after  seeing,  there  wa? 
a  thousand  he  was  totally  unacquainted  with.  He  was  very  much 
•urprised  to  find,  that  those  things  and  persons  be  loved  best,  were 
not  the  most  beautiful  to  be  seen ;  and  even  testified  displeasure  iu 


218  A  HISTORY  OF 

not  finding  "11*  parents  so  handsome  as  he  conceived  them  to  be.  It 
was  near  two  months  before  he  could  find  that  a  picture  resembled  a 
solid  body.  Till  then  he  only  considered  it  as  a  flat  surface,  variously 
shadowed ;  but,  when  he  began  to  perceive  that  these  kind  of  shadings 
actually  represented  human  beings,  he  then  began  to  examine,  by  his 
touch,  whether  they  had  not  the  usual  qualities  of  such  bodies,  and 
was  greatly  surprised  to  find,  what  he  expected  a  very  unequal  sur- 
face, to  be  smooth  and  even.  He  was  then  shown  a  miniature  pic- 
lure  of  his  father,  which  was  contained  in  his  mother's  watch-case, 
and  he  readily  perceived  the  resemblance;  but  asked,  with  great  as- 
tonishment, how  so  large  a  face  could  be  contained  in  so  small  a  com- 
pass ?  It  seemed  as  strange  to  him  as  if  a  bushel  was  contained  in  a 
pint  vessel.  At  first,  he  could  bear  but  a  very  small  quantity  of  light 
and  he  saw  every  object  much  greater  than  the  life;  but,  in  propor- 
tion as  he  saw  objects  that  were  really  large,  he  seemed  to  think  the 
former  were  diminished ;  and  although  he  knew  the  chamber  where 
he  was  contained  in  the  house,  yet  until  he  saw  the  latter,  he  could 
not  be  brought  to  conceive  how  a  house  could  be  larger  than  a  cham- 
ber. Before  the  operation  he  had  no  great  expectations  from  the 
pleasure  he  should  receive  from  a  new  sense ;  he  was  only  excited  by 
l he  hopes  of  being  able  to  read  and  write;  he  said,  for  instance,  that 
lie  could  have  no  greater  pleasure  in  walking  in  the  garden  with  his 
sight,  than  he  had  without  it,  for  he  walked  there  at  his  ease,  and  was 
acquainted  with  all  the  walks.  He  remarked  also,  with  great  justice, 
that  his  former  blindness  gave  him  one  advantage  over  the  rest  of 
mankind,  which  was  that  of  being  able  to  walk  in  the  night  with  con- 
fidence and  security.  But  when  he  began  to  make  use  of  his  new 
sense,  he  seemed  transported  beyond  measure.  He  said  that  every 
new  object  was  a  new  source  of  delight,  and  that  his  pleasure  was  so 
great  as  to  be  past  expression.  About  a  year  after,  he  was  brought 
to  Epsom,  where  there  is  a  very  fine  prospect,  with  which  he  seemed 
greatly  charmed;  and  he  called  the  landscape  before  him  a  new  me- 
thod of  seeing.  He  was  couched  in  the  other  eye,  a  year  after  the 
former,  and  the  operation  succeeded  equally  well :  when  he  saw  with 
both  eyes,  he  said  that  objects  appeared  to  him  twice  as  large  as  when 
he  saw  but  with  one ;  however,  he  did  not  see  them  doubled,  or  at  least 
he  showed  no  marks  as  if  he  saw  them  so.  Mr.  Cheselden  mentions 
instances  of  many  more  that  were  restored  to  sight  in  this  manner; 
they  all  seemed  to  concur  in  their  perceptions  with  this  youth;  and 
they  all  seemed  particularly  embarassed  in  learning  how  to  direct 
their  eyes  to  the  objects  they  wished  to  observe. 

In  this  manner  it  is  that  our  feeling  corrects  the  sense  of  seeing, 
and  that  objects  which  appear  of  very  different  sizes,  at  different  dis 
tdiices,  are  all  reduced,  by  experience,  to  their  natural  standard.  "  But 
not  the  feeling  only,  bu.  also  the  colour,  and  brightness  of  the  object, 
contributes,  in  some  measure,  to  assist  us  in  forming  an  idea  of  the 
distance  at  which  it  appears.*  Those  which  we  see  most  strongly 
marked  with  light  and  shade,  we  readily  know  to  be  nearer  than  those 

*  Mr.  Buffon  gives  a  different  theoty,  for  which  T  must  refer  the  reader  to  the  original 
That  I  have  given,  I  take  to  be  easy,  and  saiisfactr  «y  enough. 


ANIMALS.  i  1 9 

on  which  the  colours  are  more  faintly  spread,  and  that,  in  some  mea 
sure,  take  a  part  of  their  hue  from  the  air  between  us  and  them. 
Bright  objects,  also,  are  seen  at  a  greater  distance  than  such  as  are 
obscure;  and,  most  probably,  for  this  reason,  that  being  less  similar  in 
colour  to  the  air  which  interposes,  their  impressions  are  less  effaced 
by  it,  and  they  continue  more  distinctly  visible.  Thus,  a  black  and 
distant  object  is  not  seen  so  far  off  as  a  bright  and  glittering  .one.  and 
a  fire  by  night  is  seen  much  farther  off  than  by  day." 

The  power  of  seeing  objects  at  a  distance  is  very  rarely  equa*  m 
both  eyes.  When  this  inequality  is  in  any  great  degree,  the  person 
so  circumstanced  then  makes  use  only  of  one  eye,  shutting  that  which 
sees  the  least,  and  employing  the  other  with  all  its  power.  And  hence 
proceeds  that  awkward  look  which  is  known  by  the  name  of  strabism 

There  are  many  reasons  to  induce  us  to  think,  that  such  as  are 
near-sighted  see  objects  larger  than  other  persons  ;  and  yet  the  con- 
trary is  most  certainly  true,  for  they  see  them  less.  Mr.  Buffon  in- 
forms us  that  he  himself  is  short-sighted,  and  that  his  left  eye  is 
stronger  than  his  right.  He  has  very  frequently  experienced,  upon 
looking  at  any  object,  such  as  the  letters  of  a  book,  that  they  appear 
less  to  the  weakest  eye;  and  that  when  he  places  the  book,  so  as  that 
the  letters  appear  double,  the  images  of  the  left  eye,  which  is  strongest, 
are  greater  than  those  of  the  right,  which  is  the  most  feeble.  He  has 
examined  several  others,  who  were  in  similar  circumstances,  and  has 
always  found  that  the  best  eye  saw  every  object  the  largest.  This  he 
ascribes  to  habit;  for  near-sighted  people  being  accustomed  to  come 
close  to  the  object,  and  view  but  a  small  part  of  it  at  a  time,  the  habit 
ensues,  when  the  whole  of  an  object  is  seen,  and  it  appears  less  tc 
them  than  to  others. 

Infants  having  their  eyes  less  than  those  of  adults,  must  see  objects 
also  smaller  in  proportion.  For  the  image  formed  on  the  back  of  the 
eye  will  be  large,  as  the  eye  is  capacious ;  and  infants,  having  it  not 
so  great,  cannot  have  so  large  a  picture  of  the  object.  This  may  b« 
a  reason  also  why  they  are  unable  to  see  so  distinctly,  or  at  such  dis- 
tances as  persons  arrived  at  maturity. 

Old  men,  on  the  contrary,  see  bodies  close  to  them  very  indistinct- 
ly, but  bodies  at  a  great  distance  from  them  with  more  precision ;  and 
this  may  happen  from  an  alteration  in  the  coats,  or,  perhaps,  humours 
of  the  eye;  and  not,  as  is  supposed,  from  their  diminution.  The 
cornea,  for  instance,  may  become  too  rigid  to  adapt  itself,  and  take  a 
proper  convexity  for  seeing  minute  objects ;  and  its  very  flatness  will 
be  sufficient  to  fit  it  for  distant  vision. 

When  we  cast  our  eyes  upon  an  object  extremely  brilliant,  or 
when  we  fix  and  detain  them  too  long  upon  the  same  object,  the  organ 
is  hurt  and  fatigued,  its  vision  becomes  indistinct,  and  the  image  oi 
the  body,  which  has  thus  too  violently,  or  too  perseveringly  employed  us, 
is  painted  upon  every  thing  we  look  at,  and  mixes  with  every  object 
that  occurs.  "And  this  is  an  obvious  consequence  of  the  eye  taking 
in  too  much  ight,  either  immediately,  or  by  reflection.  Every  body 
exposed  to  the  light,  for  a  time,  drinks  in  a  quantity  of  its  rays,  whichj 
being  brought  into  darkness,  it  cannot  instantly  discharge.  Thus  th« 
hand,  if  it  be  exposed  to  broad  day-light  for  some  time,  and  then  /•»> 


220  A  HISTORY  OF 

mediately  snatched  into  a  dark  room,  will  appear  still  luminous:  and 
it  will  be  some  time  before  it  is  totally  darkened.  It  is  thus  with  the 
eye;  which,  either  by  an  instant  gaze  at  the  sun,  or  a  steady  conti- 
nuance upon  some  less  brilliant  object,  has  taken  in  too  much  light ; 
its  humours  are,  for  a  while,  unfit  for  vision,  until  that  be  discharged, 
and  room  made  for  rays  of  a  milder  nature."  How  dangerous  the 
looking  upon  bright  and  luminous  objects  is  to  the  sight,  may  be  easily 
•een,  from  such  as  live  in  countries  covered  for  most  part  of  the  year 
with  snow,  who  become  generally  blind  before  their  time.  Travel- 
lers who  cross  these  countries,  are  obliged  to  wear  a  crape  before  their 
eyes,  to  save  their  eyes,  which  would  otherwise  be  rendered  totally 
unserviceable ;  and  it  is  equally  dangerous  in  the  sandy  plains  of  Africa. 
The  reflection  of  the  light  is  there  so  strong,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
sustain  the  effect,  without  incurring  the  danger  of  losing  one's  sight 
entirely.  Such  persons,  therefore,  as  read  or  write  for  any  continu- 
ance, should  choose  a  moderate  light,  in  order  to  save  their  eyes;  and, 
although  it  may  seem  insufficient  at  first,  the  eye  will  accustom  itself 
to  the  shade,  by  degrees,  and  be  less  hurt  by  the  want  of  light  than 
the  excess. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  surprising  how  far  the  eye  can  accommodate  itself 
to  darkness,  and  make  the  best  of  a  gloomy  situation.  When  first 
taken  from  the  light,  and  brought  into  a  dark  room,  all  things  disap- 
pear ;  or,  if  any  thing  is  seen,  it  is  only  the  remaining  radiations  that 
still  continue  in  the  eye.  But,  after  a  very  little  time,  when  these  are 
spent,  the  eye  takes  the  advantage  of  the  smallest  ray  that  happens  to 
enter ;  and  this  alone  would,  in  time,  serve  for  many  of  the  purposes 
of  life.  There  was  a  gentleman  of  great  courage  and  understanding, 
who  was  a  major  under  Kinp  Charles  I.;  this  unfortunate  man,  sha- 
ring in  his  master's  misfortunes,  and  being  forced  abroad,  ventured  at 
Madrid  to  do  his  king  a  signal  service;  but,  unluckily,  failed  in  the 
attempt.  In  consequence  of  this,  he  was  instantly  ordered  to  a  dark 
and  dismal  dungeon,  into  which  the  light  never  entered,  and  into 
which  there  was  no  opening  but  by  a  hole  at  the  top,  down  which  the 
keeper  put  his  provisions,  and  presently  closed  it  again  on  the  other 
side.  In  this  manner  the  unfortunate  loyalist  continued  for  some 
weeks,  distressed  and  disconsolate;  but  at  last  he  began  to  think  he 
saw  some  little  glimmering  of  lip;ht.  This  internal  dawn  seemed  to 
increase  from  time  to  time,  so  that  he  could  not  only  discover  the 
parts  of  his  bed,  and  such  other  lar^«  objects,  but,  at  length,  he  even 
began  to  perceive  the  mice  that  frequented  his  ceH;  and  saw  them  as 
they  ran  about  the  floor,  eating  the  crumbs  of  bread  that  happened  to 
fall.  After  some  months'  confinement  be  was  at  last  °et  free;  but 
such  was  the  effect  of  the  darkness  upon  lira,  that  he  cou'd  not  for 
tome  days  venture  to  leave  his  dungeon,  but  was 
himself  by  degrees  tc  tne  light  o'  the  day. 


ANIMALS  221 

CHAPTER  VIIT 

ON  HEARING.* 

As  the  sense  of  hearing,  as  well  as  of  sight,  gives  us  notice  cf  re 
mote  objects,  so,  like  that,  it  is  subject  to  similar  errors,  being  capa 
ble  of  imposing  on  us  upon  all  occasions,  where  we  cannot  rectify  it 
by  the  sense  of  feeling.  We  can  have  from  it  no  distinct  intelligence 
of  the  distance  from  whence  a  sounding  body  is  heard ;  a  great  noise 
far  off,  and  a  small  one  very  near,  produce  the  same  sensation ;  and; 
unless  we  receive  information  from  some  other  sense,  we  can  never 
distinctly  tell  whether  the  sound  be  a  great  or  a  small  one.  It  is  not 
till  we  have  learned,  by  experience,  that  the  particular  sound  which 
is  heard,  is  of  a  peculiar  kind  ;  then  we  can  judge  of  the  distance 
from  whence  we  hear  it.  When  we  know  the  tone  of  the  bell,  we 
can  then  judge  how  far  it  is  from  us. 

Every  body  that  strikes  against  another  produces  a  sound,  which  is 
simple,  and  but  one  in  bodies  which  are  not  elastic,  but  which  is  often 
repeated  in  such  as  are.  If  we  strike  a  bell,  or  a  stretched  string,  for 
instance,  which  are  both  elastic,  a  single  blow  produces  a  sound,  which 
is  repeated  by  the  undulations  of  the  sonorous  body,  and  which  is  mul- 
tiplied as  often  as  it  happens  to  undulate  or  vibrate.  These  undula, 
tions  each  strike  their  own  peculiar  blow;  but  they  succeed  so  fastt 
one  behind  the  other,  that  the  ear  supposes  them  one  continued 
sound :  whereas,  in  reality,  they  make  many.  A  person  who  should, 
for  the  first  time,  hear  the  toll  of  the  bell,  would,  very  probably,  be 
able  to  distinguish  these  breaks  of  sound ;  and,  in  fact,  we  can  readily 
ourselves  perceive  an  intension  and  remission  in  the  sound. 

In  this  manner,  sounding  bodies  are  of  two  kinds;  those  unelastic 
ones,  which  being  struck,  return  but  a  single  sound;  and  those  more 
elastic,  returning  a  succession  of  sound ;  which  uniting  together  form 
a  tone.  This  tone  may  be  considered  as  a  great  number  of  sounds, 
all  produced  one  after  the  other,  by  the  same  body,  as  we  find  in  a 
bell,  or  the  string  of  a  harpsichord,  which  continues  to  sound  for  some 
time  after  it  is  struck.  A  continuing  tone  may  be  also  produced  from 
a  non-elastic  body,  by  repeating  the  blow  quick  and  often,  as  when 
we  beat  a  drum,  or  when  we  draw  a  bow  along  the  string  of  a  fiddle. 

Considering  the  subject  in  this  light,  if  we  should  multiply  the  num- 
ber of  blows,  or  repeat  them  at  quicker  intervals  upon  the  sounding 
body,  as  upon  the  drum,  for  instance,  it  is  evident  that  this  will  have 
no  effect  in  altering  the  tone;  it  will  only  make  it  either  more  even, 
or  more  distinct.  But  it  is  otherwise,  if  we  increase  the  force  of  the 
blow:  if  we  strike  the  body  with  double  weight,  this  will  produce  a 
tone  twice  as  loud  as  the  former.  If,  for  instance,  I  strike  a  table, 
with  a  switch,  this  will  be  very  different  from  the  sound  produced  by 
striking  't  with  a  cudgel.  Hence,  therefore,  we  may  infer,  that  all 
bodies  give  a  louder  and  graver  tone,  not  in  proportion  to  the  number 
of  times  they  are  struck,  but  in  proportion  to  the  force  that  strike* 

*  This  chapter  is  taken  from  Mr.  Buffon.  except  where  marked  by  inverted  comtrut* 


222  A  HISTORY  OF 

.hem  And,  if  this  be  so,  those  philosophers  who  make  the  tone  ol  a 
sonorous  body,  of  a  bell,  or  the  string  of  a  harpsichord,  for  instance, 
to  depend  upon  the  number  only  of  its  vibrations,  and  not  the  force, 
have  mistaken  what  is  only  an  effect  for  a  cause.  A  bell,  or  an  elastic 
string,  can  only  be  considered  as  a  drum  beaten ;  and  the  frequency 
of  the  blows  can  make  no  alteration  whatever  in  the  tone.  The  largest 
bells,  and  the  longest  and  thickest  strings,  have  the  most  forceful  vi- 
brations ;  and,  therefore,  their  tones  are  the  most  loud  and  the  most 
grave. 

To  know  the  manner  in  which  sounds  thus  produced  become  pleas- 
ing, it  must  be  observed,  no  one  continuing  tone,  how  loud  and  swel- 
ling soever,  can  give  us  satisfaction ;  we  must  have  a  succession  of 
them,  and  those  in  the  most  pleasing  proportion.  The  nature  of  this 
proportion  may  be  thus  conceived.  If  we  strike  a  body  incapable  of 
vibration  with  a  double  force,  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same  thing, 
with  a  double  mass  of  matter,  it  will  produce  a  sound  that  will  be 
doubly  grave.  Music  has  been  said,  by  the  ancients,  to  have  been 
first  invented  from  the  blows  of  different  hammers  on  an  anvil.  Sup- 
pose then  we  strike  an  anvil  with  a  hammer  of  one  pound  weight,  and 
again  with  a  hammer  of  two  pounds,  it  is  plain  that  the  two  pound 
hammer  will  produce  a  sound  twice  as  grave  as  the  former.  But  if 
we  strike  with  a  two  pound  hammer,  and  then  with  a  three  pound,  it 
is  evident  that  the  latter  will  produce  a  sound  one  third  more  grave 
than  the  former.  If  we  strike  the  anvil  with  a  three  pound  hammer, 
and  then  with  a  four  pound,  it  will  likewise  follow  that  the  latter  will 
be  a  quarter  part  more  grave  than  the  former.  Now,  in  the  compa- 
ring between  all  those  sounds,  it  is  obvious  that  the  difference  between 
one  and  two  is  more  easily  perceived,  than  between  two  aud  three, 
three  and  four,  or  any  numbers  succeeding  in  the  same  proportion. 
The  succession  of  sounds  will  be,  therefore,  pleasing  in  proportion  to 
the  ease  with  which  they  may  be  distinguished. — That  sound  which 
is  double  the  former,  or,  in  other  words,  the  octave  to  the  preceding 
tone,  will,  of  all  others,  be  the  most  pleasing  harmony.  The  next  to 
that,  which  is  as  two  to  three,  or,  in  other  words,  the  third,  will  be 
most  agreeable.  And  thus,  universally,  those  sounds  whose  difference 
may  be  most  easily  compared,  are  the  most  agreeable. 

"  Musicians,  therefore,  have  contented  themselves  with  seven  dif- 
ferent proportions  of  sound,  which  are  called  notes,  and  which  suffi 
ciently  answer  all  the  purposes  of  pleasure.  Not  but  that  they  might 
adopt  a  greater  diversity  of  proportions;  and  some  have  actually  done 
so;  but,  in  these,  the  differences  of  the  proportion  are  so  impercepti- 
ble, that  the  ear  is  rather  fatigued  than  pleased  in  making  the  distinc- 
tion. In  order,  however,  to  give  variety,  they  have  admitted  half 
tones;  but  in  all  the  countries  where  music  is  yet  in  its  infancy,  they 
have  rejected  such;  ana  they  can  find  music  in  none  but  the  obvious 
ones.  The  Chinese,  for  instance,  have  neither  flats  nor  sharps  in  their 
music ;  but  the  intervals  between  their  other  notes,  are  in  the  same 
proportion  with  ours. 

"Many  more  barbarous  nations  have  their  peculiar  instruments  of 
music ;  and  what  is  remarkable,  the  proportion  between  their  notes  is 
in  all  the  same  ^s  in  ours.  This  is  not  the  place  for  entering  "ito  tho 


ANIMALS.  223 

nature  of  these  sounds,  their  effects  upon  the  air,  or  their  consonances 
with  each  other.  We  are  not  now  giving  a  history  of  sound,  but  of 
human  perception. 

"All  countries  are  pleased  with  music;  and  if  they  have  not  skill 
enough  to  produce  harmony,  at  least  they  seem  willing  to  substitute 
noise.  Without  all  question,  noise  alone  is  sufficient  to  operate  pow- 
erfully on  the  spirits;  and,  if  the  mind  be  already  predisposed  to  joy, 
I  have  seldom  found  noise  fail  of  increasing  it  into  rapture.  The 
inind  feels  a  kind  of  distracted  pleasure  in  such  powerful  sounds, 
braces  up  every  nerve,  and  riots  in  the  excess.  But,  as  in  the  eye, 
an  immediate  gaze  upon  the  sun  will  disturb  the  organs,  so,  in  the  ear, 
a  loud  unexpected  noise  disorders  the  whole  frame,  and  sometimes 
disturbs  the  sense  ever  after.  The  mind  must  have  time  to  prepare 
for  the  expected  shock,  and  to  give  its  organs  the  proper  tension  for 
its  arrival. 

"Musical  sounds,  however,  seem  of  a  different  kind.  Those  are 
generally  most  pleasing  which  are  most  unexpected.  It  is  not  from 
bracing  up  the  nerves,  but  from  the  grateful  succession  of  the  sounds, 
that  these  become  so  charming.  There  are  few,  how  indifferent  so- 
ever, but  have  at  times  felt  their  pleasing  impression ;  and,  perhaps, 
even  those  who  have  stood  out  against  the  powerful  persuasion  of 
sounds,  only  wanted  the  proper  tune,  or  the  proper  instrument,  to 
allure  them. 

"  The  ancients  give  us  a  thousand  strange  instances  of  the  effects  of 
music  upon  men  and  animals.  The  story  of  Arion's  harp  that 
gathered  the  dolphins  to  the  ship  side,  is  well  known  ;  and  what  is 
remarkable,  Schotteus  assures  us,*  that  he  saw  a  similar  instance  of 
fishes  being  allured  by  music.  They  tell  us  of  diseases  that  have 
been  cured,  unchastity  corrected,  seditions  quelled,  passions  removed, 
and  sometimes  excited  even  to  madness.  Dr.  Wallis  has  endeavoured 
to  account  for  these  surprising  effects,  by  ascribing  them  to  the  novelty 
of  the  art.  For  my  own  part,  I  can  scarce  hesitate  to  impute  them 
to  the  exaggeration  of  the  writers.  They  are  as  hyperbolical  in  the 
effects  of  their  oratory;  and  yet,  we  well  know,  there  is  nothing  in 
the  orations  which  they  have  left  us,  capable  of  exciting  madness,  or 
of  raising  the  mind  to  that  ungovernable  degree  of  fury  which  they 
describe.  As  they  have  exaggerated,  therefore,  in  one  instance,  we 
may  naturally  suppose  that  they  have  done  the  same  in  the  other; 
and,  indeed,  from  the  few  remains  we  have  of  their  music,  collected 
by  Meibomius,  one  might  be  apt  to  suppose,  there  was  nothing  very 
powerful  in  what  is  lost.  Nor  does  any  one  of  the  ancient  instru- 
ments, such  as  we  see  them  rep  resented  in  statues,  appear  comparable 
to  our  fiddle. 

"  However  this  be,  we  fldve  many  odd  accounts,  net  only  among 
them,  but  the  moderns,  of  the  power  of  music  ;  and  it  must  not  be 
denied,  but  that,  on  some  particular  occasions,  musical  sounds  may 
have  a  very  powerful  effect.  I  have  seen  all  the  horses  and  cows  in 
i  field,  where  there  were  above  a  hundred,  gather  round  a  person  that 
*as  blowing  the  French  horn,  and  seeming  to  testify  an  awKward 

*  Quod  oculis  meis  spectavi.     Schotti  Magic,  universalis,  pars  ii.  L  1   p.  26. 


254  A  HISTORY  OF 

kind  of  satisfaction.  Dogs  are  well  known  to  be  very  sensible  of  dif- 
ferent tones  in  music;  and  I  have  sometimes  heard  them  sustain  a  very 
ridiculous  part  in  a  concert,  where  their  assistance  was  neither  ex 
pected  nor  desired. 

"  We  are  told  of  Henry  IV.  of  Denmark,*  that  being  one  day  de- 
sirous of  trying  in  person  whether  a  musician,  who  boasted  that  he 
could  excite  men  to  madness,  was  not  an  impostor,  he  submitted  to 
the  operation  of  his  skill :  but  the  consequence  was  much  more  terri- 
ble than  he  expected ;  for,  becoming  actually  mad,  he  killed  four  of 
his  attendants  in  the  midst  of  his  transports.  A  contrary  effect  of 
music  we  havet  in  the  cure  of  a  madman  of  Alais,  in  France,  by 
music.  This  man,  who  was  a  dancing  master,  after  a  fever  of  five 
days,  grew  furious,  and  so  ungovernable  that  his  hands  were  obliged 
to  be  tied  to  his.  sides :  what  at  first  was  rage,  in  a  short  time  was 
converted  into  silent  melancholy,  which  no  arts  could  exhilirate,  nor  no 
medicine  remove.  In  this  sullen  and  dejected  state,  an  old  acquaint- 
ance accidentally  came  to  inquire  after  his  health  ;  he  found  him  sit- 
ting up  in  bed,  tied,  and  totally  regardless  of  every  external  object 
round  him.  Happening,  however,  to  take  up  a  fiddle  that  lay  in  the 
room,  and  touching  a  favourite  air,  the  poor  madman  instantly  seemed 
to  brighten  up  at  the  sound  ;  from  a  recumbent  posture,  he  began  to 
sit  up ;  and,  as  the  musician  continued  playing,  the  patient  seemed 
desirous  of  dancing  to  the  sound  ;  but  he  was  tied,  and  incapable  of 
leaving  his  bed,  so  that  he  could  only  humour  the  tune  with  his  head, 
and  those  parts  of  his  arms  which  were  at  liberty.  Thus  the  other 
continued  playing,  and  the  dancing-master  practised  his  own  art,  as 
far  as  he  was  able,  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  suddenly 
falling  into  a  deep  sleep,  in  which  his  disorder  came  to  a  crisis,  he 
awaked  perfectly  recovered. 

"  A  thousand  other  instances  might  be  added,  equally  true :  let  it 
suffice  to  add  one  more,  which  is  not  true ;  I  mean  that  of  the  taran- 
tula. Every  person  who  has  been  in  Italy  now  well  knows  that  the 
bite  of  this  animal,  and  its  being  cured  by  music,  is  all  a  deception. 
When  strangers  come  into  that  part  of  the  country,  the  country  peo- 
ple are  ready  enough  to  take  money  for  dancing  to  the  tarantula.  A 
friend  of  mine  had  a  servant  who  suffered  himself  to  be  bit ;  the 
wound,  which  was  little  larger  than  the  puncture  of  a  pin,  was  uneasy 
for  a  few  hours,  and  then  became  well  without  any  farther  assistance. 
Some  of  the  country  people,  however,  still  make  a  tolerable  liveli- 
hood of  the  credulity  of  strangers,  as  the  musician  finds  his  account 
in  it  no  less  than  the  dancer." 

Sounds,  like  light,  are  not  only  extensively  diffused,  but  are  fre- 
quently reflected.  The  laws  of  this  reflection,  it  is  true,  are  not  as 
well  understood  as  those  of  light ;  all  we  know  is,  that  sound  is 
principally  reflected  by  hard  bodies ;  and  their  being  hollow,  also, 
sometimes  increases  the  reverberation.  "  No  art,  however,  can  make 
an  echo  ;  and  some  who  have  bestowed  great  labour  and  expense  upon 
such  a  project,  have  only  erected  shapeless  buildings,  whose  silence 
vas  a  mortifying  lecture  upon  their  presumption." 

*  OUi  Magni,  I  15.  hist  c.  28  f  Hist,  de  1'Acad.  1708.  p.  21 


ANIMALS.  22i 

The  internal  cavity  of  the  ear  seems  to  be  fitted  up  for  the  purpose 
of  echoing  sound  with  the  greatest  precision.  This  part  is  fashioned 
out  in  the  temporal  bone,  like  a  cavern  cut  into  a  rock.  "  In  this  the 
sound  is  repeated  and  articulated;  and,  as  some  anatomists  tell  us, 
(for  we  have  as  yet  but  very  little  knowledge  on  this  subject,)  is 
hnaten  against  the  tympanum,  or  drum  of  the  ear,  which  moves  four 
little  bones  joined  thereto ;  and  these  move  and  agitate  the  internal 
air  which  lies  on  the  other  side  ;  and  lastly,  this  air  strikes  and  affects 
the  auditory  nerves,  which  carry  the  sound  to  the  brain." 

One  of  the  most  common  disorders  in  old  age  is  deafness,  which 
probably  proceeds  from  the  rigidity  of  the  nerves  in  the  labyrinth  of 
the  ear.  This  disorder,  also,  sometimes  proceeds  from  a  stoppage  of 
the  wax,  which  art  may  easily  remedy.  In  order  to  know  whether 
the  defect  be  an  internal  or  an  external  one,  let  the  deaf  person  put 
a  repeating-watch  into  his  mouth,  and  if  he  hears  it  strike,  he  may  be 
assured  that  his  disorder  proceeds  from  an  external  cause,  and  is,  in 
some  measure,  curable  :  "  for  there  is  a  passage  from  the  ears  into  the 
mouth,  by  what  anatomists  call  the  eustachian  tube ;  and,  by  this 
passage,  people  often  hear  sounds,  when  they  are  utterly  without 
hearing  through  the  larger  channel :  and  this  also  is  the  reason  tha» 
we  often  see  persons  who  listen  with  great  attention,  hearken  with 
their  mouths  open,  in  order  to  catch  all  the  sound  at  every  aperture." 
It  often  happens  that  persons  hear  differently  with  one  ear  from  the 
other ;  and  it  is  generally  found  that  these  have  what  is  called  by  mu- 
sicians, a  bad  ear.  Mr.  Buffon,  who  has  made  many  trials  upon  persons 
of  this  kind,  always  found  that  their  defect  in  judging  properly  of 
sounds  proceeded  from  the  inequality  of  their  ears ;  and  receiving 
oy  both  at  the  same  time  unequal  sensations,  they  form  an  unjust  idea. 
In  this  manner,  as  those  people  hear  falsely,  they  also,  without  know- 
ing  it,  sing  false.  Those  persons  also  frequently  deceive  themselves 
with  regard  to  the  side  from  whence  the  sound  comes,  generally  sup- 
posing the  noise  to  come  on  the  part  of  the  best  ear. 

Such  as  are  hard  of  hearing  find  the  same  advantage  in  the  trumpet 
made  for  this  purpose,  that  short-sighted  persons  do  from  glasses. 
These  trumpets  might  be  easily  improved,  so  as  to  increase  sounds, 
in  the  same  manner  that  the  telescope  does  objects ;  however,  they 
could  be  used  to  advantage  only  in  a  place  of  solitude  and  stillness, 
as  the  neighbouring  sounds  would  mix  with  the  more  distant,  and  the 
whole  would  produce  in  the  ear  nothing  but  tumult  and  confusion. 

Hearing  is  a  much  more  necessary  sense  to  man  than  to  animals. 
With  these  it  is  only  a  warning  against  danger,  or  an  encouragement 
to  mutual  assistance.  In  man,  it  is  the  source  of  most  of  his  plea 
sures,  and  without  which  the  rest  of  his  senses  would  be  of  little  be- 
nefit. A  man  born  deaf,  must  necessarily  be  dumb  ;  and  his  whole 
sphere  of  knowledge  must  be  bounded  only  by  sensual  objects.  We  .< 
have  an  instance  of  a  young  man,  who  being  born  deaf,  was  restored 
at  the  age  of  twenty-four  to  perfect  hearing :  the  account  is  given  in 
the  Memoires  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  1703,  page  18. 

A  young  man  of  the  town  of  Chartres,  between  -the  age  of  twenty 
three  and  twenty-four,  the  sen  of  a  tradesman,  and  deaf  and  dum 
from  his  birth,  began  to  speaV.  all  of  a  sudden,  to  the  great  astonish 

VOL.  i.  P 


226  A  HISTORY  OF 

cient  of  the  whole  town.  He  gave  them  to  understand,  that  abou: 
three  or  four  months  before,  he  had  heard  the  sound  of  the  bells  for  the 
first  time,  and  was  greatly  surprised  at  this  new  and  unknown  sensa- 
tion. After  some  time,  a  kind  of  water  issued  from  his  left  ear,  and 
he  then  heard  perfectly  well  with  both.  During  these  three  months, 
be  was  sedulously  employed  in  listening,  without  saying  a  word,  and 
accustoming  himself  to  speak  softly  (so  as  not  to  be  heard)  the  words 
pronounced  by  others.  He  laboured  hard  also  in  perfecting  himself 
in  the  pronunciation,  and  in  the  ideas  attached  to  every  sound.  At 
length,  having  supposed  himself  qualified  to  break  silence,  he  declared 
that  he  could  now  speak,  although  as  yet  but  imperfectly.  Soon  after, 
some  able  divines  questioned  him  concerning  his  ideas  of  his  past 
state,  and  principally  with  respect  to  God,  his  soul,  the  mortality  or 
turpitude  of  actions.  The  young  man,  however,  had  not  driven  his 
solitary  speculations  into  that  channel.  He  had  gone  to  mass  indeed 
with  his  parents ;  had  learned  to  sign  himself  with  the  cross ;  to 
kneel  down  and  assume  all  the  grimaces  of  a  man  that  was  praying ; 
but  he  did  all  this  without  any  manner  of  knowledge  of  the  intention 
or  the  cause  ;  he  saw  others  do  the  like,  and  that  was  enough  for  him  ; 
he  knew  nothing  even  of  death,  and  it  never  entered  into  his  head ; 
he  led  a  life  of  pure  animal  instinct ;  entirely  taken  up  with  sensible 
objects,  and  such  as  were  present,  he  did  not  seem  even  to  make  as 
many  reflections  upon  these  as  might  reasonably  be  expected  from  his 
improving  situation ;  and  yet  the  young  man  was  not  in  want  of  un- 
derstanding; but  the  understanding  of  a  man  deprived  of  all  com- 
merce with  others,  is  so  very  confined,  that  the  mind  is  in  some  mea 
sure  totally  under  the  control  of  its  immediate  sensations. 

Notwithstanding,  it  is  very  possible  to  communicate  ideas  to  deaf 
men,  which  they  previously  wanted,  and  even  give  them  very  precise 
notions  of  some  abstract  subjects,  by  means  of  signs,  and  of  letters. 
A  person  born  deaf,  may,  by  time,  and  sufficient  pains,  be  taught  to 
write  and  read,  to  speak,  and,  by  the  motions  of  the  lips,  to  under- 
stand what  is  said  to  him  ;  however,  it  is  probable  that,  as  most  of  the 
motions  of  speech  are  made  within  the  mouth  by  the  tongue,  the 
knowledge  from  the  motion  of  the  lips  is  but  very  confined  :  "  never- 
theless, I  have  conversed  with  a  gentleman  thus  taught,  and  in  all  the 
commonly  occurring  questions,  and  the  usual  salutations,  he  was  ready 
enough,  merely  by  attending  to  the  motion  of  the  lips  alone.  When 
I  ventured  to  speak  for  a  short  continuance,  he  was  totally  at  a  loss, 
although  he  understood  the  subject  when  written  extremely  well." 
Persons  taught  in  this  manner,  were  at  first  considered  as  prodigies ; 
but  there  have  been  so  many  instances  of  success  of  late,  and  so  many 
are  skilful  in  the  art  of  instructing  in  this  way,  that,  though  still  a 
matter  of  some  curiosity,  it  ceases  to  be  an  object  rf  wonder. 


ANIMALS.  22? 

CHAPTER  IX. 

OF  SMELLING,  FEELING,  AND  TASTING. 

AN  animal  may  be  said  to  fill  up  that  sphere  which  he  can  reach 
by  his  senses,  and  is  actually  large  in  proportion  to  the  sphere  to 
which  its  organ  extends.  By  sight,  man's  enjoyments  are  diffused  into 
a  wide  circle ;  that  of  hearing,  though  less  widely  diffused,  neverthe- 
less extends  his  powers ;  the  sense  of  smelling  is  more  contracted 
still ;  and  the  taste  and  touch  are  the  most  confined  of  all.  Thus 
man  enjoys  very  distant  objects  but  with  one  sense  only  ;  more  nearly 
he  brings  two  senses  at  once  to  bear  upon  them  ;  his  sense  of  smell- 
ing assists  the  other  two  at  its  own  distance,  and  of  such  objects  as  a 
man,  he  may  be  said  to  be  in  perfect  possession. 

Each  sense,  however,  the  more  it  acts  at  a  distance,  the  more  capa- 
ble it  is  of  making  combinations,  and  is  consequently  the  more  im- 
proveable.  Refined  imaginations,  and  men  of  strong  minds,  take  more 
pleasure,  therefore,  in  improving  the  delights  of  the  distant  senses, 
than  in  enjoying  such  as  are  scarce  capable  of  improvement. 

By  combining  the  objects  of  the  extensive  senses,  all  the  arts  of 
poetry,  painting,  and  harmony,  have  been  discovered  ;  but  the  closer 
senses,  if  I  may  so  call  them,  such  as  smelling,  tasting,  and  touching, 
are,  in  some  measure,  as  simple  as  they  are  limited,  and  admit  of  lit- 
tle variety.  The  man  of  imagination  makes  a  great  and  an  artificial 
happiness,  by  the  pleasure  of  altering  and  combining ;  the  sensualist 
just  stops  where  he  began,  and  cultivates  only  those  pleasures  which 
he  cannot  improve.  The  sensualist  is  contented  with  those  enjoy- 
ments that  are  already  made  to  his  hand  ;  but  the  man  of  pleasure  is 
best  pleased  with  growing  happiness. 

Of  all  the  senses,  perhaps,  there  is  not  one  in  which  man  is  more 
inferior  to  other  animals  than  in  that  of  smelling.  With  man,  it  is  a 
sense  that  acts  in  a  narrow  sphere,  and  disgusts  almost  as  frequently 
as  it  gives  him  pleasure.  With  many  other  animals  it  is  diffused  to 
a  very  great  extent:  and  never  seems  to  offend  them.  Dogs  not  only 
trace  the  steps  of  other  animals,  but  also  discover  them  by  the  scent 
at  a  very  great  distance  ;  and  while  they  are  thus  exquisitely  sensible 
of  all  smells,  they  seem  no  way  disgusted  by  any. 

But,  although  this  sense  is,  in  general,  so  very  inferior  in  man,  it  is 
much  stronger  in  those  nations  that  abstain  from  animal  food,  than 
among  Europeans.  The  Bramins  of  India  have  a  power  of  smelling, 
as  I  am  informed,  equal  to  what  it  is  in  most  other  creatures.  They 
can  smell  the  water  which  they  drink,  that  to  us  seems  quite  inodo- 
rous; and  have  a  word,  in  their  language,  which  denotes  a  country 
of  fine  water.  We  are  told,  also,  that  the  negroes  of  the  Antilles,  by 
the  smell  alone,  can  distinguish  between  the  footsteps  of  a  Frenchman 
and  a  negro.  It  is  possible,  therefore,  that  we  may  dull  this  organ  by 
•jur  luxurious  way  of  living;  and  sacrifice  to  the  pleasures  of  taste, 
those  which  might  be  received  from  perfume 

However,  it  is  a  sense  that  we  can,  in  some  measure,  dispense  with  ; 
and  I  have  known  many  thnt  wanted  it  entirely,  with  but  very  little 


213  A  HISTORY  OF 

inconvenience  fiom  its  loss.  In  a  state  of  nature  it  is  said  to  be  use- 
ful in  guiding  us  to  proper  nourishment,  and  deterring  us  from  that 
which  is  unwholesome;  but,  in  our  present  situation,  such  informa- 
tion is  but  little  wanted ;  and,  indeed,  but  little  attended  to.  In  fact, 
the  sense  of  smelling  gives  us  very  often  false  intelligence.  Many 
things  that  have  a  disagreeable  odour,  are,  nevertheless,  wholesome 
and  pleasant  to  the  taste;  and  such  as  make  eating  an  art,  seldom 
think  a  meal  fit  to  please  the  appetite  till  it  begins  to  offend  the  nose. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  are  many  things  that  smell  most  gratefully, 
and  yet  are  noxious,  or  fatal  to  the  constitution.  Some  physicians 
think  that  perfumes  in  general  are  unwholesome;  that  they  relax  the 
nerves,  produce  head-aches,  and  even  retard  digestion.  The  man- 
chineel  apple,  which  is  known  to  be  deadly  poison,  is  possessed  of  the 
most  grateful  odour.  Some  of  those  mineral  vapours  that  are  often 
found  fatal  in  the  stomach,  smell  like  the  sweetest  flowers,  and  con- 
tinue thus  to  flatter  till  they  destroy.  This  sense,  therefore,  as  it 
should  seem,  was  never  meant  to  direct  us  in  the  choice  of  food,  but 
appears  rather  as  an  attendant  than  a  necessary  pleasure. 

Indeed,  if  we  examine  the  natives  of  different  countries,  or  even 
different  natives  of  the  same,  we  shall  find  no  pleasure  in  which  they 
differ  so  widely  as  that  of  smelling.  Some  persons  are  pleased  with 
the  smell  of  a  rose ;  while  I  have  known  others  that  could  not  abide 
to  have  it  approach  them.  The  savage  nations  are  highly  delighted 
with  the  smell  of  assafoetida,  which  is  to  us  the  most  nauseous  stink  in 
nature.  It  would  in  a  manner  seem  that  our  delight  in  perfumes  was 
made  by  habit ;  and  that  a  very  little  industry  could  bring  us  totally 
to  invert  the  perception  of  odours. 

Thus  much  is  certain,  that  many  bodies  which  at  one  distance  are 
an  agreeable  perfume,  when  nearer  are  a  most  ungrateful  odour.  Musk 
and  ambergrise,  in  small  quantities,  are  considered  by  most  persons  as 
highly  fragrant;  and  yet,  when  in  larger  masses,  their  scent  is  insuf- 
ferable. From  a  mixture  of  two  bodies,  each  whereof  is,  of  itself, 
void  of  all  smell,  a  very  powerful  smell  may  be  drawn.  Thus,  by 
grinding  quick-lime  with  sal-ammoniac,  may  be  produced  a  very  foetid 
mixture.  On  the  contrary,  from  a  mixture  of  two  bodies,  that  are 
separately  disagreeable,  a  very  pleasant  aromatic  odour  may  be  gained. 
A  mixture  of  aqua-fortis  with  spirit  of  wine  produces  this  effect.  But 
not  only  the  alterations  of  bodies  by  each  other,  but  the  smallest 
change  in  us,  makes  a  very  great  alteration  in  this  sense,  and  fre- 
quently deprives  us  of  it  totally.  A  slight  cold  often  hinders  us  from 
smelling  ;  and  as  often  changes  the  nature  of  odours.  Some  persons, 
from  disorder,  retain  an  incurable  aversion  to  those  smells  which  most 
pleased  them  before :  and  many  have  been  known  to  have  an  antipa- 
thy to  some  animals,  whose  presence  they  instantly  perceive  by  the 
smell.  From  all  this,  therefore,  the  sense  of  smelling  appears  to  be 
an  uncertain  monitor,  easily  disordered,  and  not  much  missed  when 
totally  wanting. 

The  sense  most  nearly  allied  to  smelling  is  that  of  tasting.  This, 
some  have  been  willing  to  consider  merely  as  a  nicer  kind  of  touch, 
and  have  undertaken  to  account,  in  -a  very  mechanical  manner,  for 
•Jin  difference  of  savours.  "Such  bodies,"  said  they,  "as  are  pointed, 


ANIMALS.  229 

happening  to  be  applied  to  the  papillae  of  the  tongue,  excite  a  very 
powerful  sensation,  and  give  us  the  idea  of  saltness.  Such,  on  the 
contrary,  as  are  of  a  rounder  figure,  slide  smoothly  along  the  oapillse, 
and  are  perceived  to  be  sweet."  In  this  manner  they  have,  with 
minute  labour,  gone  through  the  variety  of  imagined  forms  in  bodies, 
and  have  given  them  as  imaginary  effects.  All  we  can  precisely  de- 
termine upon  the  nature  of  tastes  is,  that  the  bodies  to  be  tasted  must 
be  either  somewhat  moistened,  or,  in  some  measure,  dissolved  by  the 
saliva,  before  they  can  produce  a  proper  sensation:  when  both  the 
tongue  itself,  and  the  body  to  be  tasted,  are  extremely  dry,  no  taste 
whatever  ensues.  The  sensation  is  then  changed ;  and  the  tongue, 
instead  of  tasting,  can  only  be  said,  like  any  other  part  of  the  body, 
to  feel  the  object. 

It  is  for  this  reason  that  children  have  a  stronger  relish  of  tastes 
than  those  who  are  more  advanced  in  life.  This  organ  with  them, 
from  the  greater  moisture  of  their  bodies,  is  kept  in  greater  perfec- 
tion; and  is,  consequently,  better  adapted  to  perform  its  functions. 
Every  person  remembers  how  great  a  pleasure  he  found  in  sweets, 
while  a  child ;  but  his  taste  growing  more  obtuse  with  age,  he  is 
obliged  to  use  artificial  means  to  excite  it.  It  is  then  that  he  is  found 
to  call  in  the  assistance  of  poignant  sauces,  and  strong  relishes  of  salts 
and  aromatics;  all  which  the  delicacy  of  his  tender  organ,  in  child- 
hood, were  unable  to  endure.  His  taste  grows  callous  to  the  natural 
relishes,  and  is  artificially  formed  to  others  more  unnatural ;  so  that 
the  highest  epicure  may  be  said  to  have  the  most  depraved  taste;  as 
it  is  owing  to  the  bluntness  of  his  organ,  that  he  is  obliged  to  have 
recourse  to  such  a  variety  of  expedients  to  gratify  his  appetite. 

As  smells  are  often  rendered  agreeable  by  habit,  so  also  tastes  may 
be.  Tobacco  and  coffee,  so  pleasing  to  many,  are  yet,  at  first,  very 
disagreeable  to  all.  It  is  not  without  perseverance  that  we  begin  to 
have  a  relish  for  them;  we  force  nature  so  long,  that  what  was  con 
straint  in  the  beginning,  at  last  becomes  inclination. 

The  grosse'st,  and  yet  the  most  useful  of  all  the  senses,  is  that  of 
feeling.  We  are  often  seen  to  survive  under  the  loss  of  the  rest;  but 
of  this  we  can  never  be  totally  deprived,  but  with  life.  Although  this 
sense  is  diffused  over  all  parts  of  the  body,  yet  it  most  frequently  hap- 
pens that  those  parts  which  are  most  exercised  in  touching,  acquire 
the  greatest  degree  of  accuracy.  Thus  the  fingers,  by  long  habit,  be- 
come greater  masters  in  the  art  than  any  others,  even  where  the  sen- 
$;Uion  is  more  delicate  and  fine.*  It  is  from  this  habit,  therefore,  and 
their  peculiar  formation,  and  not,  as  is  supposed,  from  their  being  fur- 
nished with  a  greater  quantity  of  nerves,  that  the  fingers  are  thus  per- 
fectly qualified  to  judge  of  forms.  Blind  men,  who  are  obliged  to  use 
them  much  oftener,  have  this  sense  much  finer;  so  that  the  delicacy 
of  the  touch  arises  rather  from  the  habit  of  constantly  employing  the  , 
fingers,  than  from  any  fancied  nervousness  in  their  conformation. 

All  animals  that  are  furnished  with  handst  seem  to  have  more  un 
derstanding  than  others.  Monkeys  have  so  many  actions  like  those 
of  men,  that  they  appear  to  have  similar  ideas  of  the  form  of  bodies 

*  Buffon,  vol.  vi.  p.  80.  f  Ibid.  vol.  v1  p  82 


£50  A  HISTORY  OF 

All  othei  crentures,  deprived  of  hands,  can  have  no  distii.et  ideas  of 
ihe  shape  of  the  objects  by  which  they  are  surrounded,  as  they  want 
this  organ,  which  serves  to  examine  and  measure  their  forms,  their 
risings,  and  depressions.  A  quadruped,  probably,  conceives  as  erro- 
neous an  idea  of  any  thing  near  him,  as  a  child  would  of  a  rock  or  a 
mountain  that  it  beheld  at  a  distance.  It  may  be  for  this  reason,  that 
we  often  see  them  frighted  at  things  with  which  they  ought  to  be  bet- 
ter acquainted.  Fishes,  whose  bodies  are  covered  with  scales,  and 
who  have  no  organs  for  feeling,  must  be  the  most  stupid  of  all  animals. 
Serpents,  that  are  likewise  destitute,  are  yet,  by  winding  round  seve- 
ral bodies,  better  capable  of  judging  of  their  form.  All  these,  how- 
ever, can  have  but  very  imperfect  ideas  from  feeling;  and  we  have 
already  seen,  when  deprived  of  this  sense,  how  little  the  rest  of  the 
senses  are  to  be  relied  on. 

The  feeling,  therefore,  is  the  guardian,  the  judge,  and  the  examiner 
of  all  the  rest  of  the  senses.  It  establishes  their  information,  and  de- 
tects their  errors.  All  the  other  senses  are  altered  by  time,  and  con- 
tradict their  former  evidence;  but  the  touch  still  continues  the  same; 
and,  though  extremely  confined  in  its  operations,  yet  it  is  never  found 
to  deceive.  The  universe,  to  a  man  who  had  only  used  the  rest  of 
his  senses,  would  be  but  a  scene  of  illusion;  every  object  misrepre- 
sented, and  all  its  properties  unknown.  Mr.  Buffon  has  imagined  a 
man  just  newly  brought  into  existence,  describing  the  illusion  of  his 
first  sensations,  and  pointing  out  the  steps  by  which  he  arrived  at  re- 
ality. He  considers  him  as  just  created,  and  awaking  amidst  the  pro- 
ductions of  nature;  and,  to  animate  the  narrative  still  more  strrngly, 
has  made  his  philosophical  man  a  speaker.  The  reader  will  no  doubt 
recollect  Adam's  speech  in  Milton  as  being  similar.  All  that  I  can 
say  to  obviate  the  imputation  of  plagiarism  is,  that  the  one  treats  the 
subject  more  as  a  poet,  the  other  more  as  a  philosopher.  The  philo 
sopher's  man  describes  his  first  sensations  in  the  following  manner.* 

I  well  remember  that  joyful  anxious  moment  when  I  first  became 
acquainted  with  my  own  existence.  I  was  quite  ignorant  of  what  I 
was,  how  I  was  produced,  or  from  whence  I  came.  I  opened  my 
eyes :  what  an  addition  to  my  surprise  !  the  light  of  the  day,  the  azure 
vault  of  heaven,  the  verdure  of  the  earth,  the  crystal  of  the  waters, 
all  employed  me  at  once,  and  animated  and  filled  me  with  inexpres- 
sible delight.  I  at  first  imagined  that  all  those  objects  were  within 
me,  and  made  a  part  of  myself. 

Impressed  with  this  idea,  I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  sun  ;  its  splendour 
dazzled  and  overpowered  me ;  I  shut  them  once  more ;  and,  to  my 
great  concern,  I  supposed  that  during  this  short  interval  of  darkness, 
1  was  again  returning  to  nothing. 

Afflicted,  seized  with  astonishment,  I  pondered  a  moment  on  this 
great  change,  when  I  heard  a  variety  of  unexpected  sounds.  The 
whistling  of  the  wind,  and  the  melody  of  the  groves,  formed  a  concert, 
the  soft  cadence  of  which  sunk  upon  my  soul.  I  listened  for  some 
time,  and  was  persuaded  that  all  this  music  was  within  me. 

*  Buffon,  vol.  vi.  p.  88. 


ANIMALS.  231 

Quite  occupied  with  this  new  kind  of  existence,  I  had  already  for 
gotten  the  light  which  was  my  first  inlet  into  life ;  when  I  once  more 
opened  my  eyes,  and  found  myself  again  in  possession  of  my  former 
happiness.  The  gratification  of  the  two  senses  at  once,  was  a  plea 
sure  too  great  for  utterance. 

I  turned  my  eyes  upon  a  thousand  various  ohjects;  I  soon  found 
thJit  I  could  lose  them,  and  restore  them  at  will;  and  amused  myseli 
more  at  leisure  with  a  repetition  of  this  new-made  power. 

1  now  began  to  gaze  without  emotion,  and  to  hearken  with  tran- 
quillity, when  a  light  breeze,  the  freshness  of  which  charmed  rne, 
wafted  its  perfumes  to  my  sense  of  smelling,  and  gave  me  such  satis- 
faction as  even  increased  my  self-love. 

Agitated,  roused  by  the  various  pleasures  of  my  new  existence,  I 
instantly  arose,  and  perceived  myself  moved  along,  as  if  by  some  un- 
known and  secret  power. 

I  had  scarce  proceeded  forward,  when  the  novelty  of  my  situation 
once  more  rendered  me  immoveable.  My  surprise  returned;  I  sup- 
posed that  every  object  around  me  had  been  in  motion :  I  gave  to 
them  that  agitation  which  I  produced  by  changing  place;  and  the 
whole  creation  seemed  once  more  in  disorder. 

I  lifted  my  hand  to  my  head;  I  touched  my  forehead;  I  felt  my 
whole  frame;  I  then  supposed  that  my  hand  was  the  principal  organ 
of  my  existence;  all  its  informations  were  distinct  and  perfect;  and 
so  superior  to  the  senses  I  had  yet  experienced,  that  I  employed  my- 
self for  some  time  in  repeating  its  enjoyments :  every  part  of  mv  per- 
son 1  touched,  seemed  to  touch  my  hand  in  turn,  and  gave  back  sen- 
sation for  sensation. 

I  soon  found  that  this  faculty  was  expanded  over  the  whole  surface 
of.my  body;  and  I  now  first  began  to  perceive  the  limits  of  my  exis- 
tence, which  I  had  in  the  beginning  supposed  spread  over  all  the  ob- 
jects I  saw. 

Upon  casting  my  eyes  upon  my  body,  and  surveying  my  own  form, 
I  thought  it  greater  than  all  the  objects  that  surrounded  me.  I  gazed 
upon  my  person  with  pleasure;  I  examined  the  formation  of  my  hand, 
and  all  its  motions ;  it  seemed  to  me  large  or  little  in  proportion  as  I 
approached  it  to  my  eyes;  I  brought  it  very  near,  and  it  then  hid 
almost  every  other  object  from  my  sight.  I  began  soon,  however,  to  find 
that  my  sight  gave  me  uncertain  information,  and  resolved  to  depend 
upon  my  feeling  for  redress. 

This  precaution  was  of  the  utmost  service;  I  renewed  my  motions, 
and  walked  forward  with  my  face  turned  towards  the  heavens.  I 
happened  to  strike  lightly  against  a  palm-tree,  and  this  renewed  my 
surprise:  I  laid  my  hand  on  this  strange  body;  it  seemed  replete  with 
new  wonders,  for  it  did  not  return  me  sensation  for  sensation,  as  my 
former  feelings  had  done.  I  perceived  that  there  was  something  ex- 
ternal, and  which  did  not  make  a  part  of  my  own  existence. 

I  now,  therefore,  resolved  to  touch  whatever  I  saw,  and  vainly  at- 
tempted to  touch  the  sun;  I  stretched  forth  my  arm,  and  felt  only 
yielding  air:  at  every  effort,  I  fell  from  one  surprise  into  another,  for 
every  object  appeared  equally  near  me;  and  it  was  not  till  after  ai> 
n.ulrmy  of  trials  that  1  found  some  objects  farther  removed  fhan  the  rest 


232  A  HISTORY  OF 

Amazed  with  the  illusions,  and  the  uncertainty  of  my  state,  I  sal 
down  beneath  a  tree ;  the  most  beautiful  fruits  hung  upon  it,  within 
my  reach;  I  stretched  forth  my  hand,  and  they  instantly  separated 
from  the  branch.  I  was  proud  of  being  able  to  grasp  a  substance 
without  me;  I  held  them  up,  and  their  weight  appeared  to  me  like  an 
animated  power  that  endeavoured  to  draw  them  to  the  earth.  I  found 
a  pleasure  -in  conquering  their  resistance. 

I  held  them  near  my  eye ;  I  considered  their  form  and  beauty ;  their 
fragrance  still  more  allured  me  to  bring  them  nearer;  I  approached 
them  to  my  lips,  and  drank  in  their  odours;  the  perfume  invited  my 
sense  of  tasting,  and  I  soon  tried  a  new  sense — How  new!  how  ex- 
quisite !  Hitherto  I  had  tasted  only  of  pleasure ;  but  now  it  was  luxury. 
The  power  of  tasting  gave  me  the  idea  of  possession. 

Flattered  with  this  new  acquisition,  I  continued  its  exercise,  till  an 
agreeable  languor  stealing  upon  my  mind,  I  felt  all  my  limbs  become 
heavy,  and  all  my  desires  suspended.  My  sensations  were  now  no 
longer  vivid  and  distinct;  but  seemed  to  lose  every  object,  and  pre- 
sented only  feeble  images,  confusedly  marked.  At  that  instant  I  sunk 
upon  the  flowery  bank,  and  slumber  seized  me.  All  now  seemed  once 
more  lost  to  me.  It  was  then  as  if  I  was  returning  into  my  former 
nothing.  How  long  my  sleep  continued,  I  cannot  tell ;  as  I  yet  had 
no  perception  of  time.  My  awaking  appeared  like  a  second  birth; 
and  I  then  perceived  that  I  had  ceased  for  a  time  to  exist.  This  pro- 
duced a  new  sensation  of  fear;  and  from  this  interruption  in  life,  I 
began  to  conclude  that  I  was  not  formed  to  exist  for  ever. 

In  this  state  of  doubt  and  perplexity,  I  began  to  harbour  new  sus- 
picions; and  to  fear  that  sleep  had  robbed  me  of  some  of  my  late 
powers ;  when,  turning  on  one  side,  to  resolve  my  doubts,  what  was 
my  amazement,  to  behold  another  being,  like  myself,  stretched  by  my 
side!  New  ideas  now  began  to  arise:  new  passions,  as  yet  unper- 
ceived,  with  fears,  and  pleasures,  all  took  possession  of  my  mind,  and 
prompted  my  curiosity;  love  served  to  complete  that  happiness  which 
was  begun  in  the  individual;  and  every  sense  was  gratified  in  all  its 
varieties. 


CHAPTER  X. 

OP  OLD  AGE  AND  DEATH.* 

EVERY  thing  in  nature  has  its  improvement  and  decay.  The  hu- 
man form  is  no  sooner  arrived  at  its  state  of  perfection,  than  it  begins 
to  decline.  The  alteration  is,  at  first,  insensible;  and,  often,  several 
years  are  elapsed  before  we  find  ourselves  grown  old.  The  news  of 
this  disagreeable  change  too  generally  comes  from  without;  and  we 
learn  from  others  that  we  grow  old,  before  we  are  willing  to  believe 
the  report. 

When  the  body  has  come  to  its  full  height,  and  is  extended  into  it* 

•  This  chapte.  is  taken  from  Mr.  Buffon,  except  where  it  is  marked  by  ipver*e'l  commas. 


ANIMALS.  233 

lust  dimensions,  it  then  also  begins  to  receive  an  additional  bulk, 
which  rather  loads  than  assists  it.  This  is  formed  from  fat ;  which 
generally,  at  the  age  of  thirty-five  or  forty,  covers  all  the  muscles,  and 
interrupts  their  activity.  Every  action  is  then  performed  with  greater 
labour,  and  the  increase  of  size  only  serves  as  a  forerunner  of  decay. 

The  bones,  also,  become  every  day  more  solid.  In  the  embryo 
they  are  as  soft  almost  as  the  muscles  of  the  flesh ;  but,  by  degrees, 
they  harden,  and  acquire  their  natural  vigour;  but  still,  however,  the 
circulation  is  carried  on  through  them,  and,  how  hard  soever  the  bones 
may  seem,  yet  the  blood  holds  its  current  through  them  as  through  all 
other  parts  of  the  body.  Of  this  we  may  be  convinced,  by  an  expe- 
riment, which  was  first  accidentally  discovered  by  our  ingenious  coun- 
tryman Mr.  Belcher.  Perceiving  at  a  friend's  house,  that  the  bones 
of  hogs,  which  were  fed  upon  madder,  were  red,  he  tried  it  upon  vari- 
ous animals  by  mixing  this  root  with  their  usual  food ;  and  he  found 
that  it  tinctured  the  bones  in  all;  an  evident  demonstration  that  the 
juices  of  the  body  had  a  circulation  through  the  bones.  He  fed  some 
animals  alternately  upon  madder  and  their  common  food,  for  some 
time,  and  he  found  their  bones  tinctured  with  alternate  layers,  in  con- 
formity to  their  manner  of  living.  From  all  this  he  naturally  con- 
cluded, that  the  blood  circulated  through  the  bones,  as  it  does  through 
every  other  part  of  the  body ;  and  that,  how  solid  soever  they  seemed, 
yet,  like  the  softest  parts,  they  were  furnished  through  all  their  sub- 
stance with  their  proper  canals.  Nevertheless,  these  canals  are  of 
very  different  capacities,  during  the  different  stages  of  life.  In  infancy 
they  are  capacious;  and  the  blood  flows  almost  as  freely  through  the 
bones  as  through  any  other  part  of  the  body;  in  manhood  their  size  is 
greatly  diminished;  the  vessels  are  almost  imperceptible;  and  t.h« 
circulation  through  them  is  proportionally  slow.  But,  in  the  decline 
of  life,  the  blood,  which  flows  through  the  bones,  no  longer  contri- 
buting to  their  growth,  must  necessarily  serve  to  increase  their  hard- 
ness. The  channels  that  every  where  run  through  the  human  frame, 
may  be  compared  to  those  pipes  that  we  every  where  see  crusted  on 
the  inside,  by  the  water,  for  a  long  continuance,  running  through  them. 
Both  every  day  grow  less  and  less,  by  the  small  rigid  particles  which 
are  deposited  within  them.  Thus  as  the  vessels  are  by  degrees  dimi- 
nished, the  juices  also,  which  were  necessary  for  the  circulation 
through  them,  are  diminished  in  proportion ;  till  at  length,  in  old  age, 
those  props  of  the  human  frame  are  not  only  more  solid  but  more 
brittle. 

The  cartilages,  or  gristles,  which  may  be  considered  as  bones  be- 
ginning to  be  formed,  grow  also  more  rigid.  The  juices  circulating 
through  them,  for  there  is  a  circulation  through  all  parts  of  the  body, 
every  day  contributes  to  render  them  harder;  so  that  these  substances, 
which  in  youth  are  elastic  and  pliant,  in  age  become  hard  and  bony 
As  these  cartilages  are  generally  placed  near  the  joints,  the  motion 
ol  the  joints  also  must,  of  consequence,  become  more  difficult.  Thus, 
;n  old  age,  every  action  of  the  body  is  performed  with  labour;  and 
the  cartilages,  formerly  so  supple,  will  now  sooner  break  than  bend. 

"  As  the  cartilages  acquire  hardness,  and  unfit  the  joints  for  motion, 
t>o  t»lso,  that  mucous  liquor,  which  is  always  separated  between  l\n* 


234  A  HISTORY  OF 

joints,  and  which  serves,  like  oil  to  a  hinge,  to  give  them  an  easy  and 
ready  play,  is  now  grown  more  scanty.  It  becomes  thicker,  and  more 
clammy,  more  unfif  for  answering  the  purposes  of  motion;  and  from 
thence,  in  old  age,  every  joint  is  not  only  stiff,  but  awkward.  At 
every  motion,  this  clammy  liquor  is  heard  to  crack;  and  it  is  not 
without  the  greatest  efforts  of  the  muscles  that  its  resistance  is  over- 
come. I  have  seen  an  old  person,  who  never  moved  a  single  joint, 
that  did  not  thus  give  notice  of  the  violence  done  to  it." 

The  membranes  that  cover  the  bones,  the  joints,  and  the  rest  of  the 
body,  become,  as  we  grow  old,  more  dense  and  more  dry.  These 
which  surround  the  bones,  soon  cease  to  be  ductile.  The  fibres,  of 
which  the  muscles  or  flesh  is  composed,  become  every  day  more  rigid ; 
and,  while  to  the  touch  the  body  seems,  as  we  advance  in  years,  to 
grow  softer,  it  is,  in  reality,  increasing  in  hardness.  It  is  the  skin, 
and  not  the  flesh,  that  we  feel  upon  such  occasions.  The  fat,  and  the 
flabbiness  of  that,  seems  to  give  an  appearance  of  softness,  which  the 
flesh  itself  is  very  far  from  having.  There  are  few  can  doubt  this, 
after  trying  the  difference  between  the  flesh  of  young  and  old  animals. 
The  first  is  soft  and  tender,  the  last  is  hard  and  dry. 

The  skin  is  the  only  part  of  the  body  that  age  does  not  contribute 
to  harden.  That  stretches  to  eve-ry  degree  of  tension ;  and  we  have 
horrid  instances  of  its  pliancy,  in  many  disorders  incident  to  humanity 
In  youth,  therefore,  while  the  body  is  vigorous  and  increasing,  it  still 
gives  way  to  its  growth.  But,  although  it  thus  adapts  itself  to  our 
increase,  it  does  not  in  the  same  manner  conform  to  our  decay.  The 
skin,  which  in  youth  was  filled  and  glossy,  when  the  body  begins  to 
decline,  has  not  elasticity  enough  to  shrink  entirely  with  its  diminu 
lion.  It  hangs,  therefore,  in  wrinkles,  which  no  art  can  remove.  The 
wrinkles  of  the  body,  in  general,  proceed  from  this  cause.  But  those 
of  the  face  seem  to  proceed  from  another;  namely,  from  the  many 
varieties  of  positions  into  which  it  is  put  by  the  speech,  the  food,  or 
the  passions.  Every  grimace,  and  every  passion,  wrinkles  up  the 
visage  into  different  forms.  These  are  visible  enough  in  young  per- 
sons ;  but  what  at  first  was  accidental,  or  transitory,  becomes  unal- 
terably fixed  in  the  visage  as  it  grows  older.  "From  hence  we  may 
conclude,  that  a  freedom  from  passions  not  only  adds  to  the  happiness 
of  the  mind,  but  preserves  the  beauty  of  the  face ;  and  the  person 
that  has  not  felt  their  influence,  is  less  strongly  marked  by  the  decays 
of  nature." 

Hence,  therefore,  as  we  advance  in  age,  the  bones,  the  cartilages, 
the  membranes,  the  flesh,  the  skin,  and  every  fibre  of  the  body,  be- 
come more  solid,  more  brittle,  and  more  dry.  Every  part  shrinks, 
every  motion  becomes  more  slow;  the  circulation  of  the  fluids  is  per- 
formed with  less  freedom;  perspiration  diminishes;  the  secretions 
alter;  the  digestion  becomes  slow  and  laborious;  and  the  juices  no 
longer  serving  to  convey  their  accustomed  nourishment,  those  parts 
may  be  said  to  live  no  longer  when  the  circulation  ceases.  Thus  the 
body  dies  by  little  and  little ;  all  its  functions  are  diminished  by  de- 
grees; life  is  driven  from  one  part  of  the  frame  to  another;  universal 
nudity  prevails ;  and  death  at  last  seizes  upon  the  little  that  is  left. 

As  the  bones,  the  cartilages,  the  muscles,  and  all  other  paits  of  the 


ANIMALS.  235 

body,  are  softer  in  women  than  in  men,  these  parts  must,  of  conse* 
quence,  require  a  longer  time  to  come  to  that  hardness  which  hastens 
death.  Women,  therefore,  ought  to  be  a  longer  time  in  growing  old 
than  men ;  and  this  is  actually  the  case.  If  we  consult  the  tables 
which  have  been  drawn  up  respecting  human  life,  we  shall  find,  that, 
after  a  certain  age,  they  are  more  long-lived  than  men,  all  other  cir 
cumstances  the  same.  A  woman  of  sixty  has  a  better  chance  than  a 
man  of  the  same  age  to  live  till  eighty.  Upon  the  whole,  we  ma} 
infer,  that  such  persons  as  have  been  slow  in  coming  up  to  maturity, 
will  also  be  slow  in  growing  old ;  and  this  holds  as  well  with  regard  to 
other  animals  as  to  man. 

The  whole  duration  of  the  life  of  either  vegetables  or  animals  may 
de,  in  some  measure,  determined  from  their  manner  of  coming  to  ma- 
turity. The  tree,  or  the  animal,  which  takes  but  a  short  time  to  in- 
crease to  its  utmost  pitch,  perishes  much  sooner  than  such  as  are  less 
premature.  In  both,  the  increase  upwards  is  first  accomplished ;  and 
not  till  they  have  acquired  their  greatest  degree  of  height  do  they 
begin  to  spread  in  bulk.  Man  grows  in  stature  till  about  the  age  of 
seventeen  ;  but  his  body  is  not  completely  developed  till  about  thirty. 
Dogs,  on  the  other  hand,  are  at  their  utmost  size  in  a  year,  and  be- 
come as  bulky  as  they  usually  are  in  another.  However,  man,  who 
is  so  long  in  growing,  continues  to  live  fourscore,  or  a  hundred  years; 
but  the  dog  seldom  above  twelve  or  thirteen.  In  general,  also,  it  may 
be  said,  that  large  animals  live  longer  than  little  ones,  as  they  usually 
take  a  longer  time  to  grow.  But  in  all  animals,  one  thing  is  equally 
certain,  that  they  carry  the  causes  of  their  own  decay  about  them ;  and 
that  their  deaths  are  necessary  and  inevitable.  The  prospects  which 
some  visionaries  have  formed  of  perpetuating  life  by  remedies,  have 
been  often  enough  proved  false  by  their  own  example.  Such  unac- 
countable schemes  would,  therefore,  have  died  with  them,  had  not 
the  love  of  life  always  augmented  our  credulity. 

When  the  body  is  naturally  well  formed,  it  is  possible  to  lengthen 
out  the  period  of  life  for  some  years  by  management.  Temperance 
in  diet  is  often  found  conducive  to  this  end.  The  famous  Cornaro, 
who  lived  to  above  a  hundred  years,  although  his  constitution  was 
naturally  feeble,  is  a  strong  instance  of  the  benefit  of  an  abstemious 
life.  Moderation  in  the  passions  also  may  contribute  to  extend  the 
term  of  our  existence.  "  Fontenelle,  the  celebrated  writer,  was  natu- 
rally of  a  very  weak  and  delicate  habit  of  body.  He  was  affected  by 
the  smallest  irregularities;  and  had  frequently  suffered  severe  fits  of 
illness  from  the  slightest  causes.  But  the  remarkable  equality  of  his 
temper,  and  his  seeming  want  of  passion,  lengthened  out  his  life  to 
above  a  hundred.  It  was  remarkable  of  him,  that  nothing  could  vex 
«r  make  him  uneasy;  every  occurrence  seemed  equally  pleasing;  and 
JIG  event,  however  unfortunate,  seemed  to  come  unexpected."  How- 
ever, the  term  of  life  can  be  prolonged  but  for  a  very  little  time  by 
any  art  we  can  use.  We  are  told  of  men  who  have  lived  beyond  the 
ordinary  duration  of  human  existence;  such  as  Parr,  who  lived  to  a 
hundred  and  forty-four;  and  Jenkins  to  a  hundred  and  sixty-five;  yet 
these  men  used  no  peculiar  arts  to  prolong  life ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
nppears  that  these,  as  well  as  some  others,  remarkable  for  their  Ion- 


23C  A  HISTORY  OF 

gevity,  were  peasants  accustomed  to  the  greatest  fatigues,  wno  had  nc 
settled  rules  of  diet,  but  who  often  indulged  in  accidental  excesses. 
Indeed,  if  we  consider  that  the  European,  the  Negro,  the  Chinese, 
and  the  American,  the  civilized  man  and  the  savage,  the  rich  and  the 
poor,  the  inhabitant  of  the  city  and  of  the  country,  though  all  so  dif- 
ferent in  other  respects,  are  yet  entirely  similar  in  the  period  allotted 
them  for  living;  if  we  consider  that  neither  the  difference  of  race,  of 
climate,  of  nourishment,  of  convenience,  or  of  soil,  makes  any  differ- 
ence in  the  term  of  life;  if  we  consider  that  those  men  who  live 
upon  raw  flesh  or  dried  fishes,  upon  sago  or  rice,  upon  cassava  or 
upon  roots,  nevertheless  live  as  long  as  those  who  are  fed  upon  bread 
and  meat,  we  shall  readily  be  brought  to  acknowledge,  that  the  dura- 
tion of  life  depends  neither  upon  habit,  customs,  nor  the  quantity  of 
food ;  we  shall  confess,  that  nothing  can  change  the  laws  of  that  me- 
chanism which  regulates  the  number  of  our  years,  and  which  can 
chiefly  be  affected  only  by  long  fasting  or  great  excess. 

If  there  be  any  difference  in  the  different  periods  of  man's  existence, 
it  ought  principally  to  be  ascribed  to  the  quality  of  the  air.  It  has 
been  observed,  that  in  elevated  situations  there  have  been  found  more 
old  people  than  in  those  that  were  low.  The  mountains  of  Scotland, 
Wales,  Auvergne,  and  Switzerland,  have  furnished  more  instances  of 
extreme  old  age,  than  the  plains  of  Holland,  Flanders,  Germany,  or 
Poland.  But,  in  general,  the  duration  of  life  is  nearly  the  same  in 
most  countries.  Man,  if  not  cut  off  by  accidental  diseases,  is  often 
found  to  live  to  ninety  or  a  hundred  years.  Our  ancestors  did  not 
live  beyond  that  date ;  and,  since  the  times  of  David,  this  term  has 
undergone  little  alteration. 

If  we  be  asked,  how  in  the  beginning  men  lived  so  much  longer 
than  at  present,  and  by  what  means  their  lives  were  extended  to  nine 
hundred  and  thirty,  or  even  nine  hundred  and  sixty  years;  it  may  be 
answered,  that  the  productions  of  the  earth,  upon  which  they  fed, 
might  be  of  a  different  nature  at  that  time  from  what  they  are  at  pre- 
sent. "  It  may  be  answered,  that  the  term  was  abridged  by  Divine 
command,  in  order  to  keep  the  earth  from  being  overstocked  with 
human  inhabitants;  since,  if  every  person  were  now  to  live  and  gene- 
rate for  nine  hundred  years,  mankind  would  be  increased  to  such  a 
degree,  that  there  would  be  no  room  for  subsistence:  so  that  the  plan 
of  Providence  would  be  altered ;  which  is  seen  not  to  produce  life, 
without  providing  a  proper  supply." 

But  to  whatever  extent  life  may  be  prolonged,  or  however  some 
may  have  delayed  the  effects  of  age,  death  is  the  certain  goal  to  which 
all  are  hastening.  All  the  causes  of  decay  which  have  been  men- 
tioned, contribute  to  bring  on  this  dreaded  dissolution.  However, 
nature  approaches  to  this  awful  period  by  slow  and  imperceptible  de- 
grees ;  life  is  consuming  day  after  day ;  and  some  one  of  our  faculties, 
or  vital  principles,  is  every  hour  dying  before  the  rest;  so  that  death 
is  only  the  last  shade  in  the  picture;  and  it  is  probable  that  man  suf- 
fers a  greater  change  in  going  from  youth  to  age,  than  from  age  into 
the  grave.  When  we  first  begin  to  live,  our  lives  may  scarcely  be 
•aid  to  be  our  own ;  as  the  child  grows,  life  increases  in  the  same 
proportion;  and  is  at  its  height  in  the  prime  of  manhood.  But  as  noon 


ANIMALS.  23? 

as  the  body  begins  to  decrease,  life  decreases  also ;  for,  as  the  human 
frame  diminishes,  and  its  juices  circulate  in  smaller  quantity,  life  di- 
minishes and  circulates  with  less  vigour;  so  that  as  we  begin  to  live 
by  degrees,  we  begin  to  die  in  the  same  manner. 

Why  then  should  we  fear  death,  if  our  lives  have  been  such  as  not 
to  make  eternity  dreadful  ?  Why  should  we  fear  that  moment,  whici. 
is  prepared  by  a  thousand  other  moments  of  the  same  kind  ?  the  first 
pangs  of  sickness  being  probably  greater  than  the  last  struggles  of  de- 
parture. Death,  in  most  persons,  is  as  calmly  endured  as  the  disor- 
der that  brings  it  on.  If  we  inquire  from  those  whose  business  it  is 
to  attend  the  sick  and  the  dying,  we  shall  find  that,  except  in  a  very 
few  acute  cases,  where  the  patient  dies  in  agonies,  the  greatest  num- 
ber die  quietly,  and  seemingly  without  pain  :  and  even  the  agonies  of 
the  former  rather  terrify  the  spectators  than  torment  the  patient ;  for 
how  many  have  we  not  seen  who  have  been  accidentally  relieved  from 
this  extremity,  and  yet  had  no  memory  of  what  they  then  endured  ? 
In  fact,  they  had  ceased  to  live,  during  that  time  when  they  ceased  to 
have  sensation  ;  and  their  pains  were  only  those  of  which  they  had 
an  idea. 

The  greatest  number  of  mankind  die,  therefore,  without  sensation ; 
and  of  those  few  that  still  preserve  their  faculties  entire  to  the  last 
moment,  there  is  scarce  one  of  them  that  does  not  also  preserve  the 
hopes  of  still  out-living  his  disorder.  Nature,  for  the  happiness  of 
man,  has  rendered  this  sentiment  stronger  than  his  reason.  A  person 
dying  of  an  incurable  disorder,  which  he  must  know  to  be  so,  by  fre- 
quent examples  of  his  case,  which  he  perceives  to  be  so,  by  the  in- 
quietude of  all  around  him,  by  the  tears  of  his  friends,  and  the  depar- 
ture or  the  face  of  the  physician,  is,  nevertheless,  still  in  hopes  of 
getting  over  it.  His  interest  is  so  great,  that  he  only  attends  to  his 
own  representations ;  the  judgment  of  others  is  considered  as  a  hasty 
conclusion,  and  while  death  every  moment  makes  new  inroads  upon 
his  constitution,  and  destroys  life  in  some  part,  hope  still  seems  to 
escape  the  universal  ruin,  and  is  the  last  that  submits  to  the  blow. 

Cast  your  eyes  upon  a  sick  man,  who  has  a  hundred  times  told  you 
that  he  felt  himself  dying — that  he  was  convinced  he  could  not  reco- 
ver, and  that  he  was  ready  to  expire ;  examine  what  passes  on  his 
visage,  when,  through  zeal  or  indiscretion,  any  one  comes  to  tell  him 
that  his  end  is  at  hand.  You  will  see  him  change,  like  one  who  is 
told  an  unexpected  piece  of  news.  He  now  appears  not  to  have 
thoroughly  believed  what  he  had  been  telling  you  himself;  he  doubted 
much,  and  his  fears  were  greater  than  his  hopes ;  but  he  still  had 
some  feeble  expectations  of  living,  and  would  not  have  seen  the  ap- 
proaches of  death,  unless  he  had  been  alarmed  by  the  mistaken  assi- 
duity of  his  attendants. 

Death,  therefore,  is  not  that  terrible  thing  which  we  suppose  it  to 
be.  It  is  a  spectre  which  frights  us  at  a  distance,  but  which  disappears 
when  we  come  to  approach  it  more  closely.  Our  ideas  of  its  terrors 
are  conceived  in  prejudice,  and  dressed  up  by  fancy  :  we  regard  it  not 
only  as  the  greatest  misfortune,  but  as  also  an  evil  accompanied  with 
the  most  excruciating  tortures :  we  have  even  increased  our  appre- 
hensions, by  reasoning  on  the  extent  of  our  sufferings.  "'  It  must  be 


238  A  HISTORY  OF 

dreadful,"  say  some,  "  since  it  is  sufficient  to  separate  the  soul  from 
the  body  ;  it  must  be  long,  since  our  sufferings  are  proportioned  to  the 
succession  of  our  ideas;  and  these  being  painful,  must  succeed  each 
other  with  extreme  rapidity."  In  this  manner  has  false  philosophy 
laboured  to  augment  the  miseries  of  our  nature;  and  to  aggravate  that 
period,  which  Nature  has  kindly  covered  with  insensibility.  Neither 
the  mind  nor  the  body  can  suffer  these  calamities ;  the  mind  is  at  that 
time  mostly  without  ideas,  and  the  body  too  much  enfeebled,  to  be 
capable  of  perceiving  its  pain.  A  very  acute  pain  produces  either 
death,  or  fainting,  which  is  a  state  similar  to  death  :  the  body  can  suf- 
fer but  to  a  certain  degree ;  if  the  torture  becomes  excessive,  it  de- 
stroys itself;  and  the  mind  ceases  to  perceive,  when  the  body  can  no 
longer  endure. 

In  this  manner  excessive  pain  admits  of  no  reflection  ;  and  wherever 
there  are  any  signs  of  it,  we  may  be  sure  that  the  sufferings  of  the 
patient  are  no  greater  than  what  we  ourselves  may  have  remembered 
to  endure. 

But,  in  the  article  of  death,  we  have  many  instances  in  which  the 
dying  person  has  shown  that  very  reflection  which  presupposes  an  ab- 
sence of  the  greatest  pain,  and  consequently  that  pang  which  ends  life, 
cannot  even  be  so  great  as  those  which  have  preceded.  Thus,  when 
Charles  XII.  was  shot  at  the  siege  of  Frederickshaldt,  he  was  seen  to 
clap  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword  ;  and  although  the  blow  was 
great  enough  to  terminate  one  of  the  boldest  and  bravest  lives  in  the 
world,  yet  it  was  not  painful  enough  to  destroy  reflection.  He  per 
ceived  himself  attacked  ;  he  reflected  that  he  ought  to  defend  himself, 
and  his  body  obeyed  the  impulse  of  his  mind,  even  in  the  last  extre- 
mity. Thus  it  is  the  prejudice  of  persons  in  health,  and  not  the  body 
in  pain,  that  makes  us  suffer  from  the  approach  of  death :  we  have  all 
our  lives  contracted  a  habit  of  making  out  excessive  pleasures  and 
pains  ;  and  nothing  but  repeated  experience  shows  us  how  seldom  the 
one  can  be  suffered,  or  the  other  enjoyed,  to  the  utmost. 

If  there  be  any  thing  necessary  to  confirm  what  we  have  said  con- 
cerning the  gradual  cessation  of  life,  or  the  insensible  approaches  of 
our  end,  nothing  can  more  effectually  prove  it,  than  the  uncertainty  of 
the  signs  of  death.  If  we  consult  what  Winslow  or  Bruhier  have  said 
upon  this  subject,  we  shall  be  convinced,  that  between  life  and  death, 
the  shade  is  so  very  undislinguishable,  that  even  all  the  powers  of  art 
can  scarcely  determine  where  the  one  ends,  and  the  other  begins. 
The  colour  of  the  visage,  the  warmth  of  the  body,  the  suppleness  of 
the  joints,  are  but  uncertain  signs  of  life  still  subsisting ;  while,  on  the 
contrary,  the  paleness  of  the  complexion,  the  coldness  of  the  body, 
the  stiffness  of  the  extremities,  the  cessation  of  all  motion,  and  the 
total  insensibility  of  the  parts,  are  but  uncertain  marks  of  death  be- 
gun. In  the  same  manner,  also,  with  regard  to  the  pulse  and  the 
breathing,  these  motions  are  often  so  kept  under,  that  it  is  impossible 
to  perceive  them.  By  approaching  a  looking-glass  to  the  mouth  ol 
the  person  supposed  to  be  dead,  people  often  expect  to  find  whether 
he  breathes  or  not.  But  this  is  a  very  uncertain  experiment ;  the 
glass  is  frequently  sullied  by  the  vapour  of  the  dead  man's  body,  and 
>ften  the  person  is  still  alive,  although  the  glass  is  no  way  tarnisned  In 


ANIMALS  239 

the  same  manner,  neither  burning  nor  scarifying,  neither  noises  in  the 
ears  nor  pungent  spirits  applied  to  the  nostrils,  give  certain  signs  of 
the  discontinuance  of  life  ;  and  there  are  many  instances  of  persons 
who  have  endured  them  all,  and  afterwards  recovered  without  any 
external  assistance,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  spectators.  How  care- 
ful, therefore,  should  we  be,  before  we  commit  those  who  are  dearest 
to  us  to  the  grave,  to  be  well  assured  of  their  departure :  experience, 
justice,  humanity,  all  persuade  us  not  to  hasten  the  funerals  of  our 
friends,  but  to  keep  their  bodies  unburied  until  we  have  certain  signs 
of  their  real  decease- 


CHAPTER  XI. 

OP  THE   VARIETIES  IN  THE  HUMAN  RACE. 

Hitherto  we  have  compared  man  with  other  animals  ;  we  now  come 
to  compare  men  with  each  other.  We  have  hitherto  considered  him 
as  an  individual,  endowed  with  excellencies  above  the  rest  of  the 
creation ;  we  now  come  to  consider  the  advantages  which  men  have 
over  men,  and  the  various  kinds  with  which  our  earth  is  inhabited. 

If  we  compare  the  minute  differences  of  mankind,  there  is  scarce 
Dne  nation  upon  the  earth  that  entirely  resembles  another ;  and  there 
may  be  said  to  be  as  many  different  kinds  of  men  as  there  are  coun- 
tries inhabited.  One  polished  nation  does  not  differ  more  from  another, 
than  the  merest  savages  do  from  those  savages  that  lie  even  contiguous 
to  them ;  and  it  frequently  happens  that  a  river,  or  a  mountain,  di- 
vides two  barbarous  tribes  that  are  unlike  each  other  in  manners, 
customs,  features,  and  complexion.  But  these  differences,  however 
perceivable,  do  not  form  such  distinctions  as  come  within  a  general 
picture  of  the  varieties  of  mankind.  Custom,  accident,  or  fashion, 
may  produce  considerable  alterations  in  neighbouring  nations  ;  their 
being  derived  from  ancestors  of  a  different  climate,  or  complexion, 
may  contribute  to  make  accidental  distinctions,  which  every  day  grow 
ess;  and  it  may  be  said,  that  two  neighbouring  nations,  how  unlike 
soever  at  first,  will  assimilate  by  degrees ;  and,  by  long  continuance, 
the  difference  between  them  will  at  last  become  almost  imperceptible. 
It  is  not,  therefore,  between  contiguous  nations  we  are  to  look  for 
any  strong  marked  varieties  in  the  human  species :  it  is  by  comparing 
the  inhabitants  of  opposite  climates  and  distant  countries  ;  those  who 
live  within  the  polar  circle  with  those  beneath  the  equator ;  those  that 
live  on  one  side  of  the  globe  with  those  that  occupy  the  other. 

Of  all  animals,  the  differences  between  mankind  are  the  smallest. 
Of  the  lower  races  of  creatures,  the  changes  are  so  great  as  often  en- 
tirely to  disguise  the  natural  animal,  and  to  distort,  or  to  disfigure  its 
shape.  But  the  chief  differences  in  man  are  rather  taken  from  the 
tiii-ture  of  his  skin  than  the  variety  of  his  figure  ;  and  in  all  climates 
he  preserves  his  erect  deportment,  and  the  marked  superiority  of  his 
form.  If  we  look  round  the  world,  there  seems  to  be  not  abov»- 


240  A  HISTORY  OF 

six*  distinct  varieties  in  the  human  species,  each  of  which  is  strongly 
marked,  and  speaks  the  kind  seldom  to  have  mixed  with  any  other. 
But  there  is  nothing  in  the  shape,  nothing  in  the  faculties,  that  shows 
their  coming  from  different  originals ;  and  the  varieties  of  climate,  of 
nourishment,  and  custom,  are  sufficient  to  produce  every  change. 

The  first  distinct  race  of  men  is  found  round  the  polar  regions. 
The  Laplanders,  the  Esquimaux  Indians,  the  Samoeid  Tartars,  the 
inhahitants  of  Nova  Zembla,  the  Borandians,  the  Greenlanders,  and 
the  natives  of  Kamtschatka,  may  be  considered  as  one  peculiar  race 
of  people,  all  greatly  resembling  each  other  in  their  stature,  their  com- 
plexion, their  customs,  and  their  ignorance.  These  nations  being 
under  a  rigorous  climate,  where  the  productions  of  nature  are  but  few, 
and  the  provisions  coarse  and  unwholesome,  their  bodies  have  shrunk 
to  the  nature  of  their  food  ;  and  their  complexions  have  suffered  from 
cold  almost  a  similar  change  to  what  heat  is  known  to  produce  ; 
their  colour  being  a  deep  brown,  in  some  places  inclining  to  actual 
blackness.  These,  therefore,  in  general,  are  found  to  be  a  race  of 
short  stature  and  odd  shape,  with  countenances  as  savage  as  their 
manners  are  barbarous.  The  visage,  in  these  countries,  is  large  and 
broad,  the  nose  flat  and  short,  the  eyes  of  a  yellowish  brown,  inclining 
to  blackness,  the  eye-lids  drawn  towards  the  temples,  the  cheek-bones 
extremely  high,  the  mouth  very  large,  the  lips  thick,  and  turned  out- 
wards, the  voice  thin  and  squeaking,  the  head  large,  the  hair  black 
and  straight,  the  colour  of  the  skin  of  a  dark  grayish.t  They  are 
short  in  stature,  the  generality  not  being  above  four  feet  high,  and 
the  tallest  not  above  five.  Among  all  these  nations  the  women  are  as 
deformed  as  the  men,  and  resemble  them  so  nearly,  that  one  cannot 
at  first  distinguish  the  sexes  among  them. 

These  nations  not  only  resemble  each  other  in  their  deformity,  their 
dwarfishness,  the  colour  of  their  hair  and  eyes,  but  they  have,  in~a 
great  measure,  the  same  inclinations,  and  the  same  manners,  being  all 
equally  rude,  superstitious,  and  stupid.  The  Danish  Laplanders  have 
a  large  black  cat,  n  which  they  communicate  their  secrets,  and  consult 
in  all  their  affairs.  Among  the  Swedish  Laplanders  there  is  in  every 
family  a  drum  for  consulting  the  devil  ;  and  although  these  nations 
are  robust  and  nimble,  yet  they  are  so  cowardly  that  they  never  can 
be  brought  into  the  field.  Gustavus  Adolphus  attempted  to  form  a 
regiment  of  Laplanders,  but  he  found  it  impossible  to  accomplish  his 
design  ;  for  it  should  seem  that  they  can  live  only  in  their  own  coun- 
try, and  in  their  own  manner.  They  make  use  of  skates,  which  are 
made  of  fir,  of  near  three  feet  long,  and  half  a  foot  broad  ;  these  are 
pointed,  and  raised  before,  and  tied  to  the  foot  by  straps  of  leather. 
With  these  they  skate  upon  the  icy  snow  with  such  velocity  that  they 
very  easily  overtake  the  swiftest  animals.  They  make  use  also  of  a 
pole-,  pointed  with  iron  at  one  end,  and  rounded  at  the  other.  This 
pole  serves  to  push  them  along,  to  direct  their  course,  to  support  them 
from  falling,  to  stop  the  impetuosity  of  their  motion,  and  to  kill  that 

*  I  have  taken  four  of  these  varieties  from  Linnreus ;    those  of  the  Laplanders  »r»d 
Tartars,  from  Mr.  Buffon. 

*  Krantz. 


ANIMALS.  241 

game  which  they  have  overtaken.  Upon  these  skates  they  descend 
the  steepest  mountains,  and  scale  the  most  craggy  precipices ;  and  in 
these  exercises  the  women  are  not  less  skillful  than  the  men.  The) 
have  all  the  use  of  the  bow  and  arrow,  which  seems  to  be  a  contri- 
vance common  to  all  barbarous  nations ;  and  which,  however,  at  fiist 
required  no  small  skill  to  invent.  They  launch  a  javelin  also, .with 
great  force,  and  some  say  that  they  can  hit  a  mark  no  larger  than 
a  crown,  at  thirty  yards  distance,  and  with  such  force  as  would  pierce 
a  man  through.  They  are  all  hunters,  and  particularly  pursue  the 
ermine,  the  fox,  the  ounce,  and  the  martin,  for  the  sake  of  their  skins. 
These  they  barter  with  their  southern  neighbours  for  brandy  and  to- 
bacco ;  both  which  they  are  fond  of  to  excess.  Their  food  is  prin- 
cipally dried  fish,  the  flesh  of  rein-deer  and  bears.  Their  bread  i* 
composed  of  the  bones  of  fishes,  pounded  and  mixed  with  the  inside 
tender  bark  of  the  pine-tree.  Their  drink  is  train-oil,  or  brandy ; 
and  when  deprived  of  these,  water  in  which  juniper  berries  have  been 
infused.  With  regard  to  their  morals,  they  have  all  the  virtues  of 
simplicity,  and  all  the  vices  of  ignorance.  They  offer  their  wives  and 
daughters  to  strangers,  and  seem  to  think  it  a  particular  honour  if 
their  offer  be  accepted.  They  have  no  idea  of  religion,  or  a  Supreme 
Being ;  the  greatest  number  of  them  are  idolaters ;  and  their  super- 
stition is  as  profound  as  their  worship  is  contemptible.  Wretched  and 
ignorant  as  they  are,  yet  they  do  not  want  pride  ;  they  set  themselves 
far  above  the  rest  of  mankind  ;  and  Krantz  assures  us,  that  when  the 
Greenlanders  are  got  together,  nothing  is  so  customary  among  them 
as  to  turn  the  Europeans  into  ridicule.  They  are  obliged,  indeed,  to 
yield  them  the  pre-eminence  in  understanding  and  mechanic  arts  ;  but 
they  do  not  know  how  to  set  any  value  upon  these.  They  therefore 
count  themselves  the  only  civilized  and  well-bred  people  in  the  world  ; 
and  it  is  common  with  them,  when  they  see  a  quiet,  or  a  modest  stran- 
ger, to  say  that  he  is  almost  as  well-bred  as  a  Greenlander. 

From  this  description,  therefore,  this  whole  race  of  people  may  be 
considered  as  distinct  from  any  other.  Their  long  continuance  in  a 
climate  the  most  inhospitable,  their  being  obliged  to  subsist  on  food 
the  most  coarse  and  ill  prepared,  the  savageness  of  their  manners,  and 
their  laborious  lives,  all  have  contributed  to  shorten  their  stature,  and 
to  deform  their  bodies.*  In  proportion  as  we  approach  towards  the 
north  pole,  the  size  of  the  natives  appears  to  diminish,  growing  less 
and  less  as  we  advance  higher,  till  we  come  to  those  latitudes  that  aie 
destitute  of  all  inhabitants  whatsoever. 

The  wretched  natives  of  these  climates  seem  fitted  by  Nature  to 
endure  the  rigours  of  their  situation.  As  their  food  is  but  scanty  and 
precarious,  their  patience  in  hunger  is  amazing.t  A  man  who  has 
eaten  nothing  for  four  days,  can  manage  his  little  canoe  in  the  most 
furious  waves,  and  calmly  subsist  in  the  midst  of  a  tempest  that  would 
quickly  dash  an  Eurv»pjean  boat  to  pieces.  Their  strength  is  net  less 
amazing  than  their  patience  ;  a  woman  among  them  will  carry  a  piece 
of  timber,  or  a  stone,  near  double  the  weight  of  what  an  European 
can  lift.  Their  bodies  are  of  a  dark  gray  all  over ;  and  their  faces 

*  Ellis's  Voyage,  p.  256.  f  Krantz,  p.  134  voL  «.. 

VOL.  I.  Q 


242  A  HISTORY  OF 

brown,  or  olive.  The  tincture  of  their  skins  partly  seems  to  arise 
from  their  dirty  manner  of  living,  being  generally  daubed  with  train- 
oil  ;  and  partly  from  the  rigours  of  climate,  as  the  sudden  alterations 
of  cold  and  raw  air  in  winter,  and  of  burning  heats  in  summer,  shade 
their  complexions  by  degrees,  till,  in  a  succession  of  generations,  they 
at  last  become  almost  black.  As  the  countries  in  which  these  reside 
are  the  most  barren,  so  the  natives  seem  the  most  barbarous  of  any 
part  of  the  earth.  Their  more  southern  neighbours  of  America  treat 
them  with  the  same  scorn  that  a  polished  nation  would  treat  a  savage 
one ;  and  we  may  readily  judge  of  the  rudeness  of  those  manners,  which 
even  a  native  of  Canada  can  think  more  barbarous  than  his  own. 

But  the  gradations  of  nature  are  imperceptible  ;  and  while  the  north 
is  peopled  with  such  miserable  inhabitants,  there  are  here  and  there 
to  be  found  upon  the  edges  of  these  regions,  people  of  larger  stature, 
and  completer  figure.  A  whole  race  of  dwarfish  breed  is  often  found 
to  come  down  from  the  north,  and  settle  more  to  the  southward ;  and 
on  the  contrary  it  sometimes  happens  that  southern  nations  are  seen 
higher  up,  in  the  midst  of  these  diminutive  tribes,  where  they  have 
continued  for  time  immemorial.  Thus  the  Ostiac  Tartars  seem  to  be 
a  race  that  have  travelled  down  from  the  north,  and  to  be  originally 
sprung  from  the  minute  savages  we  have  been  describing.  There  are\ 
also  Norwegians  and  Finlauders,  of  proper  stature,  who  are  seen  to 
inhabit  in  latitudes  higher  even  than  Lapland.  These,  however,  are 
but  accidental  migrations,  and  serve  as  shades  to  unite  the  distinct 
varieties  of  mankind. 

The  second  great  variety  in  the  human  species  seems  to  be  that  of 
the  Tartar  race  ;  from  whence,  probably,  the  little  men  we  have  been 
describing  originally  proceeded.  The  Tartar  country,  taken  in  gene- 
ral, comprehends  the  greatest  part  of  Asia ;  and  is  consequently  a 
general  name  given  to  a  number  of  nations  of  various  forms  and  com- 
plexions. But  however  they  seem  to  differ  from  each  other,  they 
agree  in  being  very  unlike  the  people  of  any  other  country.  All  these 
nations  have  the  upper  part  of  the  visage  very  broad,  and  wrinkled 
even  while  yet  in  their  youth.  Their  noses  are  short  and  flat ;  their 
eyes  little  and  sunk  in  their  heads  ;  and  in  some  of  them  they  are  seen 
five  or  six  inches  asunder.  Their  cheek-bones  are  high,  the  lower 
part  of  their  visage  narrow,  the  chin  long  and  advanced  forward,  their 
teeth  of  an  enormous  size,  and  growing  separate  from  each  other ; 
their  eye-brows  thick,  large,  and  covering  their  eyes  ;  their  eye- 
lids thick,  the  face  broad  and  flat,  the  complexion  olive-coloured, 
and  the  hair  black.  They  are  of  a  middle  size,  extremely  strong, 
and  very  robust.  They  have  but  little  beard,  which  grows  strag- 
lingly  on  the  chin.  They  have  large  thighs,  and  short  legs.  The 
ugliest  of  all  are  the  Calmucks,  in  whose  appearance  there  seems  to 
be  something  frightful.  They  all  lead  an  erratic  life,  remaining  under 
tents  of  hair,  or  skins.  They  live  upon  horse  flesh  and  that  of  camels, 
either  raw  or  a  little  sodden  between  the  horse  and  the  saddle.  They 
eat  also  flesh  dried  in  the  sun.  Their  most  usual  drink  is  mare's  milk, 
fermented  with  millet  ground  into  meal.  They  all  have  the  head 
shaven,  except  a  lock  of  hair  on  the  top,  which  they  let  grow  suf- 
ficiently long  to  form  into  tresses  on  each  side  of  tlie  face.  The  *«• 


ANIMALS.  243 

men,  who  are  as  ugly  as  the  men,  wear  their  hair,  which  they  bind 
up  with  bits  of  copper  and  other  ornaments  of  a  like  nature.  The 
majority  of  these  nations  have  no  religion,  no  settled  notions  of  mo- 
rality, no  decency  of  behaviour.  They  are  chiefly  robbers :  and  the 
natives  of  Dagestan,  who  live  near  their  more  polished  neighbours, 
make  a  traffic  of  Tartar  slaves  who  have  been  stolen,  and  sell  them  to 
the  Turks  and  the  Persians.  Their  chief  riches  consist  in  horses,  of 
which  perhaps  there  are  more  in  Tartary  than  in  any  other  part  of  the 
world.  The  natives  are  taught  by  custom  to  live  in  .the  same  place 
with  their  horses :  they  are  continually  employed  in  managing  them, 
and  at  last  bring  them  to  such  great  obedience  that  the  horse  seems 
actually  to  understand  the  rider's  intention. 

To  this  race  of  men  also,  we  must  refer  the  Chinese  and  the  Ja- 
panese, however  different  they  seem  in  their  manners  and  ceremonies. 
It  is  the  form  of  the  body  that  we  are  now  principally  considering ; 
and  there  is  between  these  countries  a  surprising  resemblance.  It  is 
in  general  allowed  that  the  Chinese  have  broad  faces,  small  eyes, 
flat  noses,  and  scarce  any  beard  ;  that  they  are  broad  and  square 
shouldered,  and  rather  less  in  stature  than  Europeans.  These  are 
marks  common  to  them  and  the  Tartars,  and  they  may  therefore  be 
considered  as  being  derived  from  the  same  original.  "  I  have  ob- 
served," says  Chardin,  "  that  in  all  the  people  from  the  east  and  the 
north  of  the  Caspian  sea,  to  the  peninsula  of  Malacca,  that  the  lines 
of  the  face,  and  the  formation  of  the  visage  is  the  same.  This  has 
induced  me  to  believe  that  all  these  nations  are  derived  from  the  same 
original,  however  different  either  their  complexions  or  their  man- 
ners may  appear :  for  as  to  the  complexion,  that  proceeds  entirely 
from  the  climate  and  the  food  ;  and  as  to  the  manners,  these  are  gene- 
rally the  result  of  their  different  degrees  of  wealth  or  power."  That 
they  come  from  one  stock,  is  evident  also  from  this,  that  the  Tartars 
who  settle  in  China,  quickly  resemble  the  Chinese  ;  and,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  Chinese  who  settle  in  Tartary,  soon  assume  the  figure  and 
the  manners  of  the  Tartars. 

The  Japanese  so  much  resemble  the  Chinese,  that  one  cannot  hesi- 
tate to  rank  them  in  the  same  class.  They  only  differ  in  being  rather 
browner,  as  they  inhabit  a  more  southern  climate.  They  are,  in 
genera],  described  as  of  a  brown  complexion,  a  short  stature,  a  broad 
flat  face,  a  very  little  beard,  and  black  hair.  Their  customs  and  cere- 
monies are  nearly  the  same ;  their  ideas  of  beauty  similar ;  and  their 
artiticial  deformities  of  blackening  the  teeth,  and  bandaging  the  feet, 
entirely  alike  in  both  countries.  They  both,  therefore,  proceed  from 
the  same  stock ;  and  although  they  differ  very  much  from  their  brutal 
progenitors,  yet  they  owe  their  civilization  wholly  to  the  mildness  of 
the  climate  in  which  they  reside,  and  to  the  peculiar  fertility  of  the 
soil.  To  this  tribe  also,  we  may  refer  the  Cochin  Chinese,  the  Sia- 
mese, the  Tonquinese,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Arracan,  Laos,  and  Pegu, 
who,  though  all  differing  from  the  Chinese,  and  each  other,  neverthe- 
ess,  have  too  strong  a  resemblance,  not  to  betray  their  common 
original. 

Another,  which  makes  the  third  variety  in  the  human  species,  is 
that  of  the  southern  Asiatics;  the  form  of  whose  features  and  per 


244  A  HISTORY  OF 

tons  may  be  easily  distinguished  from  those  of  the  Tartar  races.  Tlw 
nations  that  inhabit  the  peninsula  of  India,  seem  to  be  the  principal 
stock  from  whence  the  inhabitants  of  the  islands  that  lie  scattered  in 
the  Indian  ocean  have  been  peopled.  They  are,  in  general,  of  a 
slender  shape,  with  long  straight  black  hair,  and  often  with  Roman 
noses.  Thus  they  resemble  the  Europeans  in  stature  and  features ; 
but  greatly  differ  in  colour  and  habit  of  body.  The  Indians  are  of  an 
olive  colour,  and  in  the  more  southern  parts,  quite  black ;  although 
the  word  Mogul,  in  their  language,  signifies  a  white  man.  The  women 
are  extremely  delicate,  and  bathe  very  often :  they  are  of  an  olive 
colour,  as  well  as  the  men  :  their  legs  and  thighs  are  long,  and  their 
bodies  short,  which  is  the  opposite  to  what  is  seen  among  the  women 
of  Europe.  They  are,  as  I  am  assured,  by  no  means  so  fruitful  as 
the  European  women ;  but  they  feel  the  pains  of  child-birth  with 
much  less  sensibility,  and  are  generally  up  and  well  the  day  following. 
In  fact,  these  pains  seem  greatest  in  all  countries  where  the  women 
are  most  delicate,  or  the  constitution  enfeebled  by  luxury  or  indolence. 
The  women  of  savage  nations  seem,  in  a  great  measure,  exempt  from 
painful  labours ;  and  even  the  hard-working  wives  of  the  peasants 
among  ourselves,  have  this  advantage  from  a  life  of  industry,  that  their 
child-bearing  is  less  painful.  Over  all  India,  the  children  arrive  sooner 
at  maturity,  than  with  us  of  Europe.  They  often  marry,  and  consum- 
mate, the  husband  at  ten  years  old,  and  the  wife  at  eight ;  and  they 
frequently  have  children  at  that  age.  However,  the  women  who  are 
mothers  so  soon,  cease  bearing  before  they  are  arrived  at  thirty ;  and 
at  that  time,  they  appear  wrinkled,  and  seem  marked  with  all  the  de- 
formities of  age.  The  Indians  have  long  been  remarkable  for  their 
cowardice  and  effeminacy ;  every  conqueror,  that  has  attempted  the 
invasion  of  their  country,  having  succeeded.  The  warmth  of  the 
climate  entirely  influences  their  manners  ;  they  are  slothful,  submis- 
sive, and  luxurious  ;  satisfied  with  sensual  happiness  alone,  they  find 
no  pleasure  in  thinking  ;  and  contented  with  slavery,  they  are  ready 
to  obey  any  master.  Many  tribes  among  them  eat  nothing  that  has 
life ;  they  are  fearful  of  killing  the  meanest  insect ;  and  have  even 
erected  hospitals  for  the  maintenance  of  all  kinds  of  vermin.  The 
Asiatic  dress  is  a  loose  flowing  garment,  rather  fitted  for  the  purposes 
of  peace  and  indolence,  than  of  industry  or  war.  The  vigour  of  the 
Asiatics  is  in  general  conformable  to  their  dress  and  nourishment ; 
fed  upon  rice,  and  clothed  in  effeminate  silk  vestments,  their  soldiers 
are  unable  to  oppose  the  onset  of  an  European  army,  and  from  the 
times  of  Alexander  to  the  present  day,  we  have  scarce  any  instances 
of  their  success  in  arms.  Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  they  may  be 
considered  as  a  feeble  race  of  sensualists,  too  dull  to  find  rapture  in 
any  pleasures,  and  too  indolent  to  turn  their  gravity  into  wisdom.  To 
this  class  we  may  refer  the  Persians  and  the  Arabians,  and  in  general 
the  inhabitants  of  the  islands  that  lie  scattered  in  the  Indian  ocean. 

The  fourth  striking  variety  in  the  human  species,  is  to  be  found 
among  the  negroes  of  Africa.  This  gloomy  race  of  mankind  is  found 
to  blacken  all  the  southern  parts  of  Africa,  from  eighteen  degrees 
north  of  the  line,  to  its  extreme  termination  at  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  I  ki-ow  ;t  is  said,  that  the  Cadres,  who  inhabit  the  southern 


ANIMALS.  245 

extremity  of  that  large  continent,  are  not  to  be  ranked  among  the 
negro  race  :  however,  the  difference  between  them,  in  point  of  co- 
lour and  features,  is  so  small,  that  they  may  very  easily  be  grouped 
in  this  general  picture ;  and  in  the  one  or  two  that  I  have  seen,  I 
could  not  per:eive  the  smallest  difference.  Each  of  the  negro  na- 
tions, it  must  be  owned,  differ  from  each  other  ;  they  have  their 
peculiar  countries,  for  beauty,  like  us ;  and  different  nations,  as  \n 
Europe,  pride  themselves  upon  the  regularity  of  their  features. — 
Those  of  Guinea,  for  instance,  are  extremely  ugly,  and  have  an 
insupportable  scent ;  those  of  Mosambique  are  reckoned  beautiful, 
and  have  no  ill  smell  whatsoever.  The  negroes,  in  general,  are  of 
a  black  colour,  with  a  smooth  soft  skin.  This  smoothness  pro- 
ceeds from  the  downy  softness  of  the  hair  which  grows  upon  it ; 
the  strength  of  which  gives  a  roughness  to  the  feel,  in  those  of  a 
white  complexion.  Their  skins,  therefore,  have  a  velvet  smooth- 
ness, and  seem  less  braced  upon  the  muscles  than  ours.  The  hair  of 
their  heads  differs  entirely  from  what  we  are  accustomed  to,  being 
soft,  woolly,  and  short.  The  beard  also  partakes  of  the  same  qua- 
lities ;  but  in  this  it  differs,  that  it  soon  turns  gray,  which  the  hair  is 
seldom  found  to  do  ;  so  that  several  are  seen  with  white  beards,  and 
black  hair,  at  the  same  time.  Their  eyes  are  generally  of  a  deep 
hazel ;  their  noses  flat  and  short ;  their  lips  thick  and  tumid  ;  and 
their  teeth  of  an  ivory  whiteness.  This  their  only  beauty,  how- 
ever, is  set  off  by  the  colour  of  their  skin ;  the  contrast  between  the 
black  and  white  being  the  more  observable.  It  is  false  to  say  that 
their  features  are  deformed  by  art ;  since,  in  the  negro  children  born 
in  European  countries,  the  same  deformities  are  seen  to  prevail  ;  the 
same  flatness  in  the  nose ;  and  the  same  prominence  in  the  lips.  They 
are,  in  general,  said  to  be  well  shaped  ;  but  of  such  as  I  have  seen, 
I  never  found  one  that  might  be  justly  called  so  ;  their  legs  being 
mostly  ill  formed,  and  commonly  bending  outward  on  the  shin-bone. 
But  it  is  not  only  in  those  parts  of  their  bodies  that  are  obvious,  that  they 
are  disproportioned  ;  those  parts  which  among  us  are  usually  con- 
cealed by  dress,  with  them  are  large  and  languid.*  The  women's 
breasts,  after  bearing  one  child,  hang  down  below  the  navel;  and  it 
is  customary  with  them  to  suckle  the  child  at  their  backs,  by  throw- 
ing the  breast  over  the  shoulder.  As  their  persons  are  thus  na- 
turally deformed,  at  least  to  our  imaginations,  their  minds  are  equally 
incapable  of  strong  exertions.  The  climate  seems  to  relax  their  men- 
tal powers  still  more  than  those  of  the  body  ;  they  are,  therefore,  in 
general,  found  to  be  stupid,  indolent,  and  mischievous.  The  Ara- 
bians themselves,  many  colonies  of  whom  have  migrated  southward 
into  the  most  inland  parts  of  Africa,  seem  to  have  degenerated  from 
their  ancestors ;  forgetting  their  ancient  learning,  and  losing  their 
beauty,  they  have  become  a  race  scarcely  any  way  distinguishable' 
from  the  original  natives.  Nor  does  it  seem  to  have  fared  otherwise 
with  the  Portuguese,  who,  about  two  centuries  ago,  settled  along  this 

•Linnaeus,  in  prima  linea  sua,  faeminas  Africanas  dej-ingit  sicut  aliquid  deforme  in 
parte  genitali  gestantes,  quod  sinum  pudoris  nuncupat.  Attamen  nihil  differunt  a  nostra 
ibus  in  hac  parte  nisi  quod  labia  pudendae  sint  aliquantuluin  tumidiora.  In  hominibuf 
etiam  penis  est  longioi  et  in  til  to  laxior. 


246  A  HISTORY  OF 

coast.  They  «•  Iso  are  become  almost  as  black  as  the  negroes,  and  are 
«aid  by  some  to  be  even  more  barbarous. 

The  inhabitants  of  America  make  a  fifth  race,  as  different  from  all 
the  rest  in  colour,  as  they  are  distinct  in  habitation.  The  natives  of 
America  (except  in  the  northern  extremity,  where  they  resemble  the 
Laplanders)  are  of  a  red  or  copper  colour  ;  and  although,  in  the  old 
world,  different  climates  produce  a  variety  of  complexions  and  cus- 
toms, the  natives  of  the  new  continent  seem  to  resemble  each  other 
in  almost  every  respect.  They  are  all  nearly  of  one  colour ;  all  have 
black  thick  straight  hair,  and  thin  black  beards  ;  which,  however, 
they  take  care  to  pluck  out  by  the  roots.  They  have,  in  general,  flat 
noses,  with  high  cheek-bones,  and  small  eyes,  and  these  deformities 
of  nature  they  endeavour  to  increase  by  art :  they  flatten  the  nose, 
and  often  the  whole  head  of  their  children,  while  the  bones  are  yet 
susceptible  of  every  impression.  They  paint  the  body  and  face  of 
various  colours,  and  consider  the  hair  upon  any  part  of  it,  except  the 
head,  as  a  deformity,  which  they  are  careful  to  eradicate.  Their 
limbs  are  generally  slighter  made  than  those  of  the  Europeans  ;  and  I 
am  assured,  they  are  far  from  being  so  strong.  All  these  savages  seem 
to  be  cowardly  ;  they  seldom  are  known  to  face  their  enemies  in  the 
field,  but  fall  upon  them  at  an  advantage ;  and  the  greatness  of  their 
fears  serves  to  increase  the  rigours  of  their  cruelty.  The  wants 
which  they  often  sustain,  make  them  surprisingly  patient  in  adver- 
sity :  distress,  by  being  grown  familiar,  becomes  less  terrible  ;  so  that 
their  patience  is  less  the  result  of  fortitude  than  of  custom.  They 
have  all  a  serious  air,  although  they  seldom  think ;  and,  however 
cruel  to  their  enemies,  are  kind  and  just  to  each  other.  In  short,  the 
customs  of  savage  nations  in  every  country  are  almost  the  same ;  a 
wild,  independent,  and  precarious  life,  produces  a  peculiar  train  of 
virtues  and  vices,  and  patience  and  hospitality,  indolence  and  rapa- 
city, content  and  sincerity,  are  found  not  less  among  the  natives  of 
America,  than  all  the  barbarous  nations  of  the  globe. 

The  sixth  and  last  variety  of  the  human  species,  is  that  of  the 
Europeans,  and  the  nations  bordering  on  them.  In  this  class  we  may 
reckon  the  Georgians,  Circassians,  and  Mingrelians,  the  inhabitants 
of  Asia  Minor,  and  the  northern  parts  of  Africa,  together  with  a 
part  of  those  countries  which  lie  north-west  of  the  Caspian  sea.  The 
inhabitants  of  these  countries  differ  a  good  deal  from  each  other ; 
but  they  generally  agree  in  the  colour  of  their  bodies,  the  beauty  of 
their  complexions,  the  largeness  of  their  limbs,  and  the  vigour  of 
their  understandings.  Those  arts  which  might  have  had  their  in- 
vention among  the  other  races  of  mankind,  have  come  to  perfection 
there.  In  barbarous  countries,  the  inhabitants  go  either  naked,  or 
are  awkwardly  clothed  in  furs  or  feathers;  in  countries  semi-barbarous, 
the  robes  are  loose  and  flowing ;  but  here  the  clothing  is  less  made 
for  show  than  expedition,  and  unites,  as  much  as  possible,  the  extremes 
of  ornament  and  despatch. 

To  one  or  other  of  these  classes  we  may  refer  the  people  of  every 
country  :  and  as  each  nation  has  been  less  visited  by  strangers,  or  has 
had  less  commerce  with  the  rest  of  mankind,  we  find  their  persons 
and  their  manners  more  strongly  impressed  with  one  or  other  of  the 


ANIMALS.  247 

cnaracters  mentioned  above.  On  the  contrary,  in  those  places  where 
trade  has  long  flourished,  or  where  enemies  have  made  many  incur- 
sions, the  races  are  usually  found  blended,  and  properly  fall  beneatt 
no  one  character.  Thus,  in  the  islands  of  the  Indian  ocean,  where  a 
trade  has  been  carried  on  for  time  immemorial,  the  inhabitants  appear 
to  be  a  mixture  of  all  the  nations  upon  the  earth  ;  white,  olive,  brown, 
and  black  men,  are  all  seen  living  together  in  the  same  city,  and  pro- 
pagate a  mixed  breed,  that  can  be  referred  to  none  of  the  classes  into 
which  naturalists  have  thought  proper  to  divide  mankind. 

Of  all  the  colours  by  which  mankind  is  diversified,  it  is  easy  to 
perceive  that  ours  is  not  only  the  most  beautiful  to  the  eye,  but  the 
most  advantageous.  The  fair  complexion  seems,  if  I  may  so  express 
it,  as  a  transparent  covering  to  the  soul ;  all  the  variations  of  the  pas- 
sions, every  expression  of  joy  or  sorrow,  flows  to  the  cheek,  and,  with- 
out language,  marks  the  mind.  In  the  slightest  change  of  health  also, 
the  colour  of  the  European  face  is  the  most  exact  index,  and  often 
teaches  us  to  prevent  those  disorders  that  we  do  not  as  yet  perceive : 
not  but  the  African  black,  and  the  Asiatic  olive  complexions,  admit 
of  their  alterations  also  ;  but  these  are  neither  so  distinct,  nor  so  visi- 
ble as  with  us  :  and,  in  some  countries,  the  colour  of  the  visage  is  never 
found  to  change ;  but  the  face  continues  in  the  same  settled  shade  in 
shame  and  in  sickness,  in  anger  and  despair. 

The  colour,  therefore,  most  natural  to  man,  ought  to  be  that  which 
is  most  becoming ;  and  it  is  found  that  in  all  regions,  the  children  are 
born  fair,  or  at  least  red,  and  that  they  grow  more  black  or  tawny,  as 
they  advance  in  age.  It  should  seem,  consequently,  that  man  is  natu- 
rally white,  since  the  same  causes  that  darken  the  complexion  in  in- 
fants, may  have  originally  operated,  in  slower  degrees,  in  blackening 
whole  nations.  We  could,  therefore  readily  account  for  the  blackness 
of  different  nations,  did  we  not  see  the  Americans,  who  live  under 
the  line,  as  well  as  the  natives  of  Negroland,  of  a  red  colour,  and  but 
a  very  small  shade  darker  than  the  natives  of  the  northern  latitudes, 
in  the  same  continent.  For  this  reason  some  have  sought  for  other 
causes  of  blackness  than  the  climate  ;  and  have  endeavoured  to  prove 
that  the  blacks  are  a  race  of  people,  bred  from  one  man,  who  was 
marked  with  accidental  blackness.  This,  however,  is  but  mere  un- 
grounded conjecture  :  and,  although  the  Americans  are  not  so  dark  as 
the  negroes,  yet  we  must  still  continue  in  the  ancient  opinion,  that  the 
deepness  of  the  colour  proceeds  from  the  excessive  heat  of  the  climate. 
For,  if  we  compare  the  heats  of  Africa  with  those  of  America,  we 
shall  find  they  bear  no  proportion  to  each  other.  In  America,  all  that 
part  of  the  continent  which  lies  under  the  line,  is  cool  and  pleasant, 
either  shaded  by  mountains,  or  refreshed  by  breezes  from  the  sc-a. 
But  in  Africa,  the  wide  tract  of  country  that  lies  under  the  line  is  very 
extensive,  and  the  soil  sandy  ;  the  reflection  of  the  sun,  therefore,  from 
so  large  a  surface  of  earth,  is  almost  intolerable  ;  and  it  is  not  to  b'e 
wondered*  at,  that  the  inhabitants  should  bear,  in  their  looks,  the 
marks  of  the  inhospitable  climate.  In  America,  the  country  is  but 
thinly  inhabited  ;  and  the  more  torrid  tracts  are  generally  left  desert 
by  the  inhabitants  ;  for  which  reason  they  are  not  so  deeply  tinged  by 
the  beams  of  the  sun.  But  in  Africa  the  whole  face  of  the  'country  is 


248  A  HISTORY  OF 

fully  peopled,  and  the  natives  are  obliged  to  endure  their  situation 
without  a  power  of  migration.  It  is  there,  consequently,  that  they 
are  in  a  manner  tied  down  to  feel  all  the  severity  of  the  heat ;  and  their 
complexions  take  the  darkest  hue  they  are  capable  of  receiving.  We 
need  not,  therefore,  have  recourse  to  any  imaginary  propagation,  from 
persons  accidentally  black,  since  the  climate  is  a  cause  obvious  and 
sufficient  to  produce  the  effect. 

In  fact,  if  we  examine  the  complexion  of  different  countries,  we 
shall  find  them  darken  in  proportion  to  the  heat  of  their  climate,  and 
the  shades  gradually  to  deepen  as  they  approach  the  line.  Some  na- 
tions, indeed,  may  be  found  not  so  much  tinged  by  the  sun  as  others, 
although  they  lie  nearer  the  line.  But  this  ever  proceeds  from  some 
accidental  causes ;  either  from  the  country  lying  higher,  and  conse- 
quently being  colder  ;  or  from  the  natives  bathing  oftener,  and  leading 
a  more  civilized  life.  In  general,  it  may  be  asserted,  that  as  we  ap- 
proach the  line,  we  find  the  inhabitants  of  each  country  grow  browner, 
until  the  colour  deepens  into  perfect  blackness.  Thus,  taking  our 
standard  from  the  whitest  race  of  people,  and  beginning  with  our  own 
country,  which  I  believe  bids  fairest  for  the  pre-eminence,  we  shall 
find  the  French,  who  are  more  southern,  a  slight  shade  deeper  than 
we  ;  going  farther  down,  the  Spaniards  are  browner  than  the  French  ; 
the  inhabitants  of  Fez  darker  than  they  ;  and  the  natives  of  Negro- 
land  the  darkest  of  all.  In  what  manner  the  sun  produces  this  effect, 
and  how  the  same  luminary  which  whitens  wax  and  linen,  should 
darken  the  human  complexion,  is  not  easy  to  conceive.  Sir  Thomas 
Brown  first  supposed  that  a  mucous  substance,  which  had  something 
of  a  vitriolic  quality,  settled  under  the  reticular  membrane,  and  grew 
darker  with  heat.  Others  have  supposed  that  the  blackness  lay  in  the 
epidermis,  or  scarf-skin,  which  was  burnt  up  like  leather.  But  nothing 
has  been  satisfactorily  discovered  upon  the  subject ;  it  is  sufficient 
that  we  are  assured  of  the  fact ;  and  that  we  have  no  doubt  of  the 
sun's  .tinging  the  complexion  in  proportion  to  its  vicinity. 

But  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  the  sun  is  the  only  cause  of  dark- 
ening the  skin  ;  the  wind,  extreme  cold,  hard  labour,  or  coarse  and 
sparing  nourishment,  are  all  found  to  contribute  to  this  effect.  We 
find  the  peasants  of  every  country,  who  are  most  exposed  to  the  wea- 
ther, a  shade  darker  than  the  higher  ranks  of  people.  The  savage 
inhabitants  of  all  places  are  exposed  still  more,  and  therefore  contract 
a  still  deeper  hue,  and  this  will  account  for  the  tawny  colour  of  the 
North  American  Indians.  Although  they  live  in  a  climate  the  same, 
or  even  more  northerly  than  ours,  yet  they  are  found  to  be  of  com- 
plexions very  different  from  those  of  Europe.  But  it  must  be  con- 
sidered that  they  live  continually  exposed  to  the  sun  ;  that  they  uso 
many  methods  to  darken  theii  skins  by  art,  painting  them  with  red 
ochre,  and  anointing  them  with  the  fat  of  bears.  Had  they  taken, 
for  a  succession  of  several  generations,  the  same  precautions  to  brighten 
their  colour  that  an  European  does,  it  is  very  probable  that  they  would 
'.n  time  come  to  have  similar  complexions,  and  perhaps  dispute  the 
prize  of  beauty. 

The  extremity  of  cold  is  not  less  productive  of  a  ta»vny  complexion 
than  that  of  heat.  The  natives  of  the  arctic  circle,  as  was  ohsem-rf, 


ANIMALS.  24P 

are  all  brown  ;  and  those  that  lie  most  to  the  north  are  almost  entirety 
black.  In  this  manner  both  extremes  are  unfavourable  to  the  human 
form  and  colour,  and  the  same  effects  are  produced  under  the  poles 
that  are  found  at  the  line. 

With  regard  to  the  stature  of  different  countries,  that  seems  chiefly 
to  result  from  the  nature  of  the  food,  and  the  quantity  of  the  supply. 
Not  but  that  the  severity  of  heat  or  cold  may  in  some  measure  diminish 
the  growth,  and  produce  a  dwarfishness  of  make.  But  in  general  the 
food  is  the  great  agent  in  producing  this  effect;  where  that  is  supplied 
in  large  quantities,  and  where  its  quality  is  wholesome  and  nutrimental, 
the  inhabitants  are  generally  seen  above  the  ordinary  stature.  On 
the  contrary,  where  it  is  afforded  in  a  sparing  quantity,  or  very  coarse, 
and  void  of  nourishment  in  its  kind,  the  inhabitants  degenerate,  and 
sink  below  the  ordinary  size  of  mankind.  In  this  respect  they  resem- 
ble other  animals,  whose  bodies,  by  proper  feeding,  may  be  greatly 
augmented.  An  ox,  on  the  fertile  plains  of  India,  grows  to  a  size  four 
times  as  large  as  the  diminutive  animal  of  the  same  kind  bred  in  the 
Alps.  The  horses  bred  in  the  plains  are  larger  than  those  of  the 
mountain.  So  it  is  with  man  :  the  inhabitants  of  the  valley  are  usually 
found  taller  than  those  of  the  hill :  the  natives  of  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland,  for  instance,  are  short,  broad,  and  hardy ;  those  of  the  Low- 
lands are  tall  and  shapely.  The  inhabitants  of  Greenland,  who  live 
upon  dried  fish  and  seals,  are  less  than  those  of  Gambia  or  Senegal, 
where  nature  supplies  them  with  vegetable  and  animal  abundance. 

The  form  of  the  face  seems  rather  to  be  the  result  of  custom.  Na- 
tions who  have  long  considered  some  artificial  deformity  as  beautiful, 
who  have  industriously  lessened  the  feet,  or  flattened  the  nose,  by  de- 
grees begin  to  receive  the  impression  they  are  taught  to  assume ;  and 
nature,  in  a  course  of  ages,  shapes  itself  to  the  constraint,  and  as- 
sumes hereditary  deformity.  We  find  nothing  more  common  in  births, 
than  for  children  to  inherit  sometimes  even  the  accidental  deformities 
of  their  parents.  We  have  many  instances  of  squinting  in  the  father, 
which  he  received  from  fright,  or  habit,  communicated  to  the  off- 
spring ;  and  I  myself  have  seen  a  child  distinctly  marked  with  a  scar, 
similar  to  one  the  father  had  received  in  battle.  In  this  manner,  ac- 
cidental deformities  may  become  natural  ones ;  and  by  assiduity  may 
be  continued,  and  even  increased,  through  successive  generations. 
From  this,  therefore,  may  have  arisen  the  small  eyes  and  long  ears  of 
the  Tartar  and  Chinese  nations.  From  hence  originally  may  have 
come  the  flat  noses  of  the  blacks,  and  the  flat  heads  of  the  American 
Indians. 

In  this  slight  survey,  therefore,  I  think  we  may  see  that  all  the  va- 
riations in  the  human  figure,  as  far  as  they  differ  from  our  own,  are 
produced  either  by  the  rigour  of  the  climate,  the  bad  quality,  or  the 
scantiness  of  the  provisions,  or  by  the  savage  customs  of  the  country. 
They  are  actual  marks  of  the  degeneracy  in  the  human  form ;  and 
we  may  consider  the  European  figure  and  colour  as  standards  to  which 
to  refer  all  other  varieties,  and  with  which  to  compare  them.  In  pro- 
portion as  the  Tartar  or  American  approaches  nearer  to  European 
beauty,  we  consider  the  race  as  less  degenerated  ;  in  proportion  -is  he 


?3C  A  HISTORY  OF 

differs  mois  widely,  he  has  made  gi  eater  deviations  from  his  original 
form. 

That  we  have  all  sprung  from  one  common  parent,  we  are  taught, 
both  by  reason  and  religion,  to  believe  ;  and  we  have  good  reason  also 
to  think  that  the  Europeans  resemble  him  more  than  any  of  the  rest  of 
his  children.  However,  it  must  not  be  concealed  that  the  olive-colour- 
ed Asiatic,  and  even  the  jet-black  negro,  claim  this  honour  of  here 
ditary  resemblance ;  and  assert,  that  white  men  are  mere  deviations 
from  original  perfection.  Odd  as  this  opinion  may  seem,  they  have 
Linnaeus,  the  celebrated  naturalist,  on  their  side,  who  supposes  man  a 
native  of  the  tropical  climates,  and  only  a  sojourner  more  to  the 
north.  But,  not  to  enter  into  a  controversy  upon  a  matter  of  a  very 
remote  speculation,  I  think  one  argument  alone  will  suffice  to  prove 
the  contrary,  and  show  that  the  white  man  is  the  original  source  from 
whence  the  other  varieties  have  sprung.  We  have  frequently  seen 
white  children  produced  from  black  parents,  but  have  never  seen  a 
black  offspring  the  production  of  two  whites.  From  hence  we  may 
conclude,  that  whiteness  is  the  colour  to  which  mankind  naturally 
tends :  for,  as  in  the  tulip,  the  parent  stock  is  known  by  all  the  arti- 
ficial varieties  breaking  into  it ;  so  in  man,  that  colour  must  be  origi- 
nal which  never  alters,  and  to  which  all  the  frest  are  accidentally  seen 
to  change.  I  have  seen  in  London,  at  different  times,  two  white  ne- 
groes, the  issue  of  black  parents,  that  served  to  convince  me  of  the 
truth  of  this  theory.  I  had  before  been  taught  to  believe  that  the 
whiteness  of  the  negro's  skin  was  a  disease,  a  kind  of  milky  whiteness, 
that  might  be  called  rather  a  leprous  crust  than  a  natural  complexion. 
I  was  taught  to  suppose,  that  the  numberless  white  negroes,-  found  in 
various  parts  of  Africa,  the  white  men  that  go  by  the  name  of  Chac- 
relas,  in  the  East-Indies,  and  the  white  Americans,  near  the  Isthmus 
of  Darien,  in  the  West-Indies,  were  all  as  so  many  diseased  persons, 
and  even  more  deformed  than  the  blackest  of  the  natives.  But,  upon 
examining  that  negro  which  was  last  shown  in  London,  I  found  the 
colour  to  be  exactly  like  that  of  an  European  ;  the  visage  white 
and  ruddy,  and  the  lips  of  the  proper  redness.  However,  there 
were  sufficient  marks  to  convince  me  of  its  descent.  The  hair  was 
white  and  woolly,  and  very  unlike  any  thing  I  had  seen  before.  The 
iris  of  the  eye  was  yellow,  inclining  to  red  ;  the  nose  was  flat,  exactly 
resembling  that  of  a  negro ;  and  the  lips  thick  and  prominent.  No 
doubt,  therefore,  remained  of  the  child's  having  been  born  of  negro 
parents  :  and  the  person  who  showed  it  had  attestations  to  convince 
the  most  incredulous.  From  this,  then,  we  see  that  the  variations  of 
the  negro  colour  is  into  whiteness,  whereas  the  white  are  never  found 
to  have  a  race  of  negro  children.  Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  all  those 
changes  which  the  African,  the  Asiatic,  or  the  American,  undergo, 
are  but  accidental  deformities,  which  a  kinder  climate,  better  nourish- 
ment, or  more  civilized  manners,  would,  in  a  course  of  centuries,  ver/ 
probabl"  remove. 


ANIMALS.  2J>1 

CHAPTER  XII. 

OF    MONSTERS. 

HITHERTO  I  have  only  spoken  of  those  varieties  in  the  human  spe- 
cies, that  are  common  to  whole  nations ;  but  there  are  varieties  of 
another  kind,  which  are  only  found  in  the  individual ;  and  being  more 
rarely  seen,  are  therefore  called  monstrous.  If  we  examine  into  the 
varieties  of  distorted  nature,  there  is  scarcely  a  limb  of  the  body,  or 
a  feature  in  the  face,  that  has  not  suffered  some  reprobation,  either 
from  art  or  nature  ;  being  enlarged  or  diminished,  lengthened  or 
wrested  from  its  due  proportion.  Linnreus,  after  having  given  a  cata 
logue  of  monsters,  particularly  adds,  the  flat  heads  of  Canada,  the 
long  heads  of  the  Chinese,  and  the  slender  waists  of  the  women  ot 
Europe,  who  by  straight  lacing  take  such  pains  to  destroy  their  health, 
through  a  mistaken  desire  to  improve  their  beauty.*  It  belongs  more 
to  the  physician  than  the  naturalist  to  attend  to  these  minute  defor- 
mities ;  and  indeed  it  is  a  melancholy  contemplation  to  speculate  upon 
a  catalogue  of  calamities,  inflicted  by  unpitying  nature,  or  brought 
upon  us  by  our  own  caprice.  Some,  however,  are  fond  of  such  ac- 
counts ;  and  there  have  been  books  filled  with  nothing  eise.  To  these, 
therefore,  I  refer  the  reader,  who  may  be  better  pleased  with  accounts 
of  men  with  two  heads,  or  without  any  head  ;  of  children  joined  in  the 
middle  ;  of  bones  turned  into  flesh,  or  flesh  converted  into  bones,  than 
I  am.t  It  is  sufficient  here  to  observe,  that  every  day's  experience 
must  have  shown  us  miserable  instances  of  this  kind  produced  by  na- 
ture or  affection  :  calamities  that  no  pity  can  soften,  or  assiduity  re- 
lieve. 

Passing  over,  therefore,  every  other  account,  I  shall  only  mention 
the  famous  instance,  quoted  by  Father  Malbranche,  upon  which  he 
founds  his  beautiful  theory  of  monstrous  productions.  A  woman  of 
Paris,  the  wife  of  a  tradesman,  went  to  see  a  criminal  broke  alive 
upon  the  wheel,  at  the  place  of  public  execution.  She  was  at  that 
time  two  months  advanced  in  her  pregnancy,  and  no  way  subject  to 
any  disorders  to  affect  the  child  in  her  womb.  She  was,  however,  of 
a  tender  habit  of  body  ;  and,  though  led  by  curiosity  to  this  horrid 
spectacle,  very  easily  moved  to  pity  and  compassion.  She  felt,  there- 
fore, all  those  strong  emotions  which  so  terrible  a  sight  must  naturally 

*  Linnir.i  Syst  vol.  i.  p.  29.  Monorchides  ut  minus  fertiles. 

f  Vide  Phil.  Trans,  passim.  Miscellan.  Curioss.  Johan.  Baptist.  Wenck.  Dissertatio 
Physica  an  ex  virilis  husnani  seminis  cum  brutali  per  nefarium  coitum  commixtione  aiT. 
vicissim  ex  hruti  maris  cum  muliebri  huinauo  seminis  commixtione  possit  verus  homo 
generari.  Vide  etiam,  Johnston!  Thaumatographia  Naturalis.  Vide  Adalbert}  Disqui 
sitio  Physica  ostenti  duorum  puerorum  unus  quorum  dente  aureo,  alter  cum  capite  gi 
ganteo  Bihue  spectabantur.  A  man  without  lungs  and  stomach,  Journal  de  Scavans, 
1682,  p.  301 ;  another  without  any  brain.  Andreas  Caroli  Memorabilia,  p.  167  an. 
1876  ;  another  without  ar.y  head.  Giornale  di  Roma,  anno  1675,  p.  26  ;  another  witnoiit 
Any  arms.  New  Memoirs  of  Literature,  vol.  iv.  p.  446.  In  short,  the  variety  of  these  au- 
counts  is  almost  infinite ;  and,  perhaps,  their  use  is  as  much  circumscribed  as  their  v» 
tiety  is  extensive. 


252  A  HISTORY  OF 

inspire ;  shuddered  at  every  blow  the  criminal  received,  and  almost 
swooned  at  his  cries.  Upon  returning  from  this  scene  of  blood,  she 
continued  for  some  days  pensive,  and  her  imagination  still  wrought 
upon  the  spectacle  she  hud  lately  seen.  After  some  time,  however, 
she  seemed  perfectly  recovered  from  her  fright,  and  had  almost  for- 
gotten her  former  uneasiness.  When  the  time  of  her  delivery  ap- 
proacned,  she  seemed  no  ways  mindful  of  her  former  terrors,  nor  were 
her  pains  in  labour  more  than  usual  in  such  circumstances.  But  what 
was  the  amazement  of  her  friends  and  assistants  when  the  child  came 
into  the  world  !  It  was  found  that  every  limb  in  its  body  was  broken 
like  those  of  the  malefactor,  and  just  in  the  same  place.  This  poor 
infant  had  suffered  the  pains  of  life,  even  before  its  coming  into  the 
world:  it  did  not  die,  but  lived  in  a  hospital  in  Paris  for  twenty  years 
after,  a  wretched  instance  of  the  supposed  powers  of  imagination  in 
the  mother,  of  altering  and  distorting  the  infant  in  the  womb.  The 
manner  in  which  Malbranche  reasons  upon  this  fact,  is  as  follows  : — 
the  Creator  has  established  such  a  sympathy  between  the  several  parts 
of  nature,  that  we  are  led  not  only  to  imitate  each  other,  but  also  to 
partake  in  the  same  affections  and  desires.  The  animal  spirits  are 
thus  carried  to  the  respective  parts  of  the  body,  to  perform  the  same 
actions  which  we  see  others  perform,  to  receive  in  some  measure  their 
wounds,  and  take  part  in  their  sufferings.  Experience  tells  us,  that 
if  we  look  attentively  on  any  person,  severely  beaten,  or  sorely 
wounded,  the  spirits  immediately  flow  into  those  parts  of  the  body, 
which  correspond  to  those  we  see  in  pain.  The  more  delicate  the 
constitution,  the  more  it  is  thus  affected  ;  the  spirits  making  a  stronger 
impression  on  the  fibres  of  a  weakly  habit  than  of  a  robust  one.  Strong 
vigorous  men  see  an  execution  without  much  concern,  while  women 
of  nicer  texture  are  struck  with  horror  and  concern.  This  sensibility 
in  them  must,  of  consequence,  be  communicated  to  all  parts  of  their 
body ;  and,  as  the  fibres  of  the  child  in  the  womb  are  incomparably 
finer  than  those  of  the  mother,  the  course  of  the  animal  spirits  must 
consequently  produce  greater  alterations.  Hence,  every  stroke  given 
to  the  criminal,  forcibly  struck  the  imagination  of  the  woman  ;  and, 
by  a  kind  of  counter-stroke,  the  delicate  tender  frame  of  the  child. 

Such  is  the  reasoning  of  an  ingenious  man  upon  a  fact,  the  veracity 
of  which  many  since  have  called  in  question.*  They  have  allowed, 
indeed,  that  such  a  child  might  have  been  produced,  but  have  denied 
the  cause  of  its  deformity.  "  How  could  the  imagination  of  the  mo- 
ther," say  they,  "  produce  such  dreadful  effects  upon  her  child  ?  She 
has  no  communication  with  the  infant;  she  scarcely  touches  it  in  any 
part ;  quite  unaffected  with  her  concerns,  it  sleeps  in  security,  in  a 
mariner  secluded  by  a  fluid  in  which  it  swims,  from  her  that  bears  it 
With  what  a  variety  of  deformities,"  say  they,  "  would  all  mankind 
be  marked,  if  all  the  vain  and  capricious  desires  of  the  mother  were 
thus  readily  written  upon  the  body  of"  the  child?"  Yet,  notwith- 
standing this  plausible  way  of  reasoning,  I  cannot  avoid  giving  some 
credit  to  the  variety  of  instances  I  have  either  read  or  seen  upru  this 
subject  If  it  be  a  prejudice,  it  is  as  old  as  the  days  of  Aristotle,  »>d 

*  Buffon.  vol.  iv.  j>.  0 


ANIMALS.  25S 

to  this  day,  as  strongly  believed  by  the  generality  of  mankind  as 
ever.  It  does  not  admit  of  a  reason  ;  and,  indeed,  I  can  give  none, 
oven  why  the  child  should,  in  any  respect,  resemble  the  father  or  tht 
mother.  The  fact  we  generally  find  to  be  so.  But  why  it  should 
take  the  particular  print  of  the  father's  features  in  the  womb,  is  as 
bard  to  conceive,  as  why  it  should  be  affected  by  the  mother's  imagi- 
nation. We  all  know  what  a  strong  effect  the  imagination  has  on 
those  parts  in  particular,  without  being  able  to  assign  a  cause  how  this 
effect  is  produced  ;  and  why  the  imagination  may  not  produce  the 
same  effect  in  marking  the  child  that  it  does  in  forming  it,  I  see  no 
reason.  Those  persons  whose  employment  it  is  to  rear  up  pigeons 
of  different  colours,  can  breed  them,  as  their  expression  is,  to  a  feather. 
In  fact,  by  properly  pairing  them,  they  can  give  what  colour  they  will 
to  any  feather  in  any  part  of  the  body.  Were  we  to  reason  upon  this 
fact,  what  could  we  say  ?  Might  it  not  be  asserted,  that  the  egg,  be- 
ing distinct  from  the  body  of  the  female,  cannot  be  influenced  by  it? 
Might  it  not  be  plausibly  said,  that  there  is  no  similitude  between  any 
part  of  the  egg  and  any  particular  feather,  which  we  expect  to  pro- 
pagate ;  and  yet  for  all  this,  the  fact  is  known  to  be  true,  and  what 
no  speculation  can  invalidate.  In  the  same  manner,  a  thousand  vari- 
ous instances  assure  us,  that  the  child  in  the  womb  is  sometimes 
marked  by  the  strong  affections  of  the  mother ;  how  this  is  performed 
we  know  not ;  we  only  see  the  effect,  without  any  connexion  between 
it  and  the  cause.  The  best  physicians  have  allowed  it,  and  have  been 
satisfied  to  submit  to  the  experience  of  a  number  of  ages ;  but  many 
disbelieve  it  because  they  expect  a  reason  for  every  effect.  This, 
however,  is  very  hard  to  be  given,  while  it  is  very  easy  to  appear  wise 
by  pretending  incredulity. 

Among  the  number  of  monsters,  dwarfs  and  giants  are  usually 
reckoned  ;  though  not,  perhaps,  with  the  strictest  propriety,  since  they 
are  no  way  different  from  the  rest  of  mankind,  except  in  stature.  It 
is  a  dispute,  however,  about  words,  and  therefore  scarcely  worth  con- 
tending about.  But  there  is  a  dispute,  of  a  more  curious  nature,  on 
this  subject,  namely,  whether  there  are  races  of  people  thus  very  di- 
minutive, or  vastly  large  ;  or  whether  they  be  merely  accidental  va- 
rieties, that  now  and  then  are  seen  in  the  country,  in  a  few  persons, 
whose  bodies  some  external  cause  has  contributed  to  lessen  or  enlarge. 

With  regard  to  men  of  diminutive  stature,  all  antiquity  has  been 
unanimous  in  asserting  their  national  existence.  Homer  was  the  first 
who  has  given  us  an  account  of  the  pigmy  nation  contending  with  the 
cranes ;  and  what  poetical  licence  might  be  supposed  to  exaggerate, 
Athenaeus  has  attempted  seriously  to  confirm  by  historical  assertion.* 
If  we  attend  to  these,  we  must  believe,  that  In  the  internal  parts  of 
Africa  there  are  whole  nations  of  pigmy  beings,  not  more  than  a  foot 
in  stature,  who  continually  wage  an  unequal  war  with  the  birds  and 
beasts  that  inhabit  the  plains  in  which  they  reside.  Some  of  the  an? 
cients,  however,  and  Strabo  in  particular,  have  supposed  all  these  ac- 
counts to  be  fabulous,  and  have  been  more  inclined  to  think  this  sap- 
posed  nation  cf  pigmies,  nothing  more  than  a  species  of  apes,  wri 

«  Athenseus,  ix.  390. 


254  A  HISTORY  OF 

known  to  be  numerous  in  that  part  of  the  world.  With  this  opinion 
the  moderns  have  all  concurred  ;  and  that  diminutive  race,  which  was 
described  as  human,  has  been  long  degraded  into  a  class  of  animals 
that  resemble  us  but  very  imperfectly. 

The  existence,  therefore,  of  a  pigmy  race  of  mankind,  being 
founded  in  error,  or  in  fable,  we  can  expect  to  find  men  of  diminutive 
stature  only  by  accident,  among  men  of  the  ordinary  size.  Of  these 
accidental  dwarfs,  every  country,  and  almost  every  village,  can  pro- 
duce numerous  instances.  There  was  a  time  when  these  unfavoured 
children  of  nature  were  the  peculiar  favourites  of  the  great ;  and  no 
prince  or  nobleman  thought  himself  completely  attended,  unless  he 
had  a  dwarf  among  the  number  of  his  domestics.  These  poor  little 
men  were  kept  to  be  laughed  at ;  or  to  raise  the  barbarous  pleasure  of 
their  masters,  by  their  contrasted  inferiority.  Even  in  England,  as 
late  as  the  times  of  King  James  I.  the  court  was  at  one  time  furnished 
with  a  dwarf,  a  giant,  and  a  jester:  these  the  king  often  took  a  plea 
sure  in  opposing  to  each  other,  and  often  fomented  quarrels  among 
them,  in  order  to  be  a  concealed  spectator  of  their  animosity.  It  was 
a  particular  entertainment  of  the  courtiers  at  that  time,  to  see  little 
Jeffery,  for  so  the  dwarf  was  called,  ride  round  the  lists,  expecting  his 
antagonist ;  and  discovering  in  his  actions,  all  the  marks  of  contemp- 
tible resolution. 

It  was  in  the  same  spirit,  that  Peter  of  Russia,  in  the  year  1710. 
celebrated  a  marriage  of  dwarfs.  This  monarch,  though  raised  by  his 
native  genius  far  above  a  barbarian,  was,  nevertheless,  still  many  de- 
grees removed  from  actual  refinement.  His  pleasures,  therefore,  were 
of  the  vulgar  kind,  and  this  was  among  the  number.  Upon  a  certain 
day,  which  he  had  ordered  to  be  proclaimed  several  months  before, 
he  invited  the  whole  body  of  his  courtiers,  and  all  the  foreign  amb<rs- 
sadors,  to  be  present  at  the  marriage  of  a  pigmy  man  and  woman. 
The  preparations  for  this  wedding  were  not  only  very  grand,  but  exe- 
cuted in  a  style  of  barbarous  ridicule.  He  ordered  that  all  the  dwarf 
men  and  women,  within  two  hundred  miles,  should  repair  to  the  capi- 
tal ;  and  also  insisted  that  they  should  be  present  at  the  ceremony. 
For  this  purpose  he  supplied  them  with  proper  vehicles ;  but  so  con- 
trived it,  that  one  horse  was  seen  carrying  in  a  dozen  of  them  into 
the  city  at  once,  while  the  mob  followed,  shouting  and  laughing,  from 
behind.  Some  of  them  were  at  first  unwilling  to  obey  an  order  which 
they  knew  was  calculated  to  turn  them  into  ridicule,  and  did  not 
come;  but  he  soon  obliged  them  to  obey;  and,  as  a  punishment, 
enjoined,  that  they  should  wait  upon  the  rest  at  dinner.  The  whole 
company  of  dwarfs  amounted  to  seventy,  beside  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom, who  were  richly  adorned,  and  in  the  extremity  of  the  fashion. 
For  this  little  company  in  miniature,  every  thing  was  suitably  pro- 
vided ;  a  low  table,  small  plates,  little  glasses,  and  in  short,  every 
thing  was  so  fitted,  as  if  all  things  had  been  dwindled  to  their  own 
standard.  It  was  his  great  pleasure  to  see  their  gravity  and  their 
pride  ;  the  contention  of  the  women  for  places,  and  the  men  for  su- 
periority. This  point  he  attempted  to  adjust,  by  ordering  that  the 
most  diminutive  should  take  the  lead  ;  but  this  bred  disputes,  for  none 
would  then  consent  to  sit  foremost.  All  this,  however,  beinj/  at  lasl 


ANIMALS.  255 

settled,  dancing  followed  the  dinner,  and  the  ball  wis  opened  with  a 
minuet  by  the  bridegroom,  who  measured  exactly  three  feet  two 
inches  high.  In  the  end,  matters  were  so  contrived,  that  this  little 
company,  who  met  together  in  gloomy  pride,  and  unwilling  to  by 
pleased,  being  at  last  familiarized  to  laughter,  joined  in  the  diver- 
sion, and  became,  as  the  journalist  has  it,*  extremely  sprightly  and 
entertaining. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  entertainment  such  guests  might  afford 
when  united,  I  never  found  a  dwarf  capable  of  affording  any  when 
alone.  I  have  sometimes  conversed  with  some  of  these  that  were  ex- 
hibited at  our  fairs  about  town,  and  have  ever  found  their  intellects 
as  contracted  as  their  persons.  They,  in  general,  seemed  to  me  to 
have  faculties  very  much  resembling  those  of  children,  and  their 
desires  likewise  of  the  same  kind  ;  being  diverted  with  the  same 
sports,  and  best  pleased  with  such  companions.  Of  all  those  I  have 
seen,  which  may  amount  to  five  or  six,  the  little  man,  whose  name 
was  Coan,  that  died  lately  at  Chelsea,  was  the  most  intelligent  and 
sprightly.  I  have  heard  him  and  the  giant,  who  sung  at  the  theatres, 
sustain  a  very  ridiculous  duet,  to  which  they  were  taught  to  give 
great  spirit.  But  this  mirth,  and  seeming  sagacity,  were  but  assumed. 
He  had,  by  long  habit,  been  taught  to  look  cheerful  upon  the  ap- 
proach of  company ;  and  his  conversation  was  but  the  mere  etiquette 
of  a  person  that  had  been  used  to  receive  visitors.  When  driven  out 
of  his  walk,  nothing  could  be  more  stupid  or  ignorant,  notliing  more 
dejected  or  forlorn.  But  we  have  a  complete  history  of  a -dwarf,  very 
accurately  related  by  Mr.  Daubenton,  in  his  part  of  the  Histoire 
Naturelle  ;  which  I  will  here  take  leave  to  translate. 

This  dwarf,  whose  name  was  Baby,  was  well  known,  having  spent 
the  greatest  part  of  his  life  at  Lunenville,  in  the  palace  of  Stanislaus, 
the  titular  king  of  Poland.  He  was  born  near  the  village  of  Plaisne, 
in  France,  in  the  year  1741.  His  father  and  mother  were  peasants, 
both  of  good  constitutions,  and  inured  to  a  life  of  husbandry  and  la- 
bour. Baby,  when  born,  weighed  but  a  pound  and  a  quarter.  We 
are  not  informed  of  the  dimensions  of  his  body  at  that  time ;  but  we 
may  conjecture  they  were  very  small,  as  he  was  presented  on  a  plate 
to  be  baptized,  and  for  a  long  time  lay  in  a  slipper.  His  mouth, 
although  proportioned  to  the  rest  of  his  body,  was  not,  at  that  time, 
large  enough  to  take  in  the  nipple;  and  he  was,  therefore,  obliged  to 
be  suckled  by  a  she-goat  that  was  in  the  house;  and  that  served  as  a 
nurse,  attending  to  his  cries  with  a  kind  of  maternal  fondness.  He 
began  to  articulate  some  words  when  eighteen  months  old  ;  and  at 
two  years  he  was  able  to  walk  alone.  He  was  then  fitted  with  shoes 
•that  were  about  an  inch  and  a  half  long.  He  was  attacked  with  se- 
veral acute  disorders ;  but  the  small-pox  was  the  only  one  which  left 
any  marks  behind  it.  Until  he  was  six  years  old,  he  eat  no  other 
food  but  pulse,  potatoes,  and  bacon.  His  father  and  mother  were, 
from  their  poverty,  incapable  of  affording  him  any  better  nourish- 
ment ;  and  his  education  was  little  better  than  his  food,  being  bred 
up  among  the  rustics  of  the  place.  At  six  years  old  he  was  about 

*  Die  dench  wurdige.     Iwerg.     Hockweit,  &c.     Lipsiae,  1713,  vol.  viii.  page  102.  seq 


Z'j6  A  HISTORY  OF 

fifteen  inches  high ;  and  his  whole  body  weighed  but  thirteen  pounds. 
Notwithstanding  this,  he  was  well  proportioned,  and  handsome  ;  his 
health  was  good,  but  his  understanding  scarce  passed  the  bounds  of 
instinct.  It  was  at  that  time  that  the  king  of  Poland,  having  heard  ol 
such  a  curiosity,  had  him  conveyed  to  Lunenville,  gave  him  the  name 
of  Baby,  and  kept  him  in  his  palace. 

Baby,  having  thus  quitted  the  hard  condition  of  a  peasant  to  enjoy 
all  the  comforts  and  conveniences  of  life,  seemed  to  receive  no 
alteration  from  his  new  way  of  living,  either  in  mind  or  person.  He 
preserved  the  goodness  of  his  constitution  till  about  the  age  of  sixteen, 
but  his  body  seemed  to  increase  very  slowly  during  the  whole  time ; 
and  his  stupidity  was  such,  that  all  instructions  were  lost  in  improving 
his  understanding.  He  could  never  be  brought  to  have  any  sense  of 
religion,  nor  even  to  shew  the  least  signs  of  a  reasoning  faculty 
They  attempted  to  teach  him  dancing  and  music,  but  in  vain  ;  he 
never  could  make  any  thing  of  music ;  and  as  for  dancing,  although 
he  beat  time  tolerably  exact,  yet  he  could  never  remember  the 
figure,  but  while  his  dancing-master  stood  by  to  direct  his  motions. 
Notwithstanding,  a  mind  thus  destitute  of  understanding  was  not 
\\ithoutitspassions;  anger  and  jealousy  harassed  it  at  times  ;  nor 
was  he  without  desires  of  another  nature. 

At  the  age  of  sixteen,  Baby  was  twenty-nine  inches  tall  ;  at  this 
he  rested  ;  but  having  thus  arrived  at  his  acme,  the  alterations  of 
puberty,  or  rather,  perhaps,  of  old  age,  came  fast  upon  him.  From 
being  very  beautiful,  the  poor  little  creature  now  became  quite  de- 
formed ;  his  strength  quite  forsook  him  ;  his  back-bone  began  to 
bend  ;  his  head  hung  forward  ;  his  legs  grew  weak  ;  one  of  his  shoul- 
ders turned  awry  ;  and  his  nose  grew  disproportionably  large.  With 
his  strength,  his  natural  spirits  also  forsook  him  ;  and,  by  the  time 
he  was  twenty,  he  was  grown  feeble,  decrepit,  and  marked  with  the 
strongest  impressions  of  old  age.  It  had  been  before  remarked  by 
some,  that  he  would  die  of  old  age  before  he  arrived  at  thirty  ;  and, 
in  fact,  by  the  time  he  was  twenty-two,  he  could  scarcely  walk  a 
hundred  paces,  being  worn  with  the  multiplicity  of  his  years,  and 
bent  under  the  burden  of  protracted  life.  In  this  year  he  died  ;  a 
cold,  attended  with  a  slight  fever,  threw  him  into  a  kind  of  lethargy, 
"liich  had  a  few  momentary  intervals  ;  but  he  could  scarce  be  brought 
„  ^peak.  However,  it  is  asserted,  that  in  the  five  last  years  of  his 
life,  he  shewed  a  clearer  understanding,  than  in  his  times  of  best 
health  :  but  at  length  he  died,  after  enduring  great  agonies,  in  the 
twenty-second  year  of  his  age. 

Opposite  to  this  accidental  diminution  of  the  human  race,  is  that 
of  its  extraordinary  magnitude.  Concerning  the  reality  of  a  nation 
of  Giants,  there  have  been  many  disputes  among  the  learned.  Some 
have  affirmed  the  probability  of  such  a  race  ;  and  others,  as  warmly 
have  denied  the  possibility  of  their  existence.  But  it  is  not  from  any 
speculative  reasonings,  upon  a  subject  of  this  kind,  that  information 
is  to  be  obtained  ;  it  is  not  from  the  disputes  of  the  scholar,  but  the 
labours  of  the  enterprising,  that  we  are  to  be  instructed  in  this  in 
quiry.  Indeed,  nothing  can  be  more  absurd,  than  what  some  learned 
nifp  have  advanced  unon  ihi<s  sub'ect.  It  is  very  unlikely,  sayj 


ANIMALS.  25? 

Grew,  that  there  should  either  be  dwarfs  or  giants ;  01  if  such,  they 
cannot  be  fitted  for  the  usual  enjoyment  of  life  and  reason.  Had 
man  been  born  a  dwarf,  he  could  not  have  been  a  reasonable  crea- 
ture ;  for  to  that  end,  he  must  have  a  jolt  head,  and  then  lie  would 
not  have  body  and  blood  enough  to  supply  his  brain  with  spirits  ;  or 
if  he  had  a  small  head,  proportionable  to  his  body,  there  would  not 
be  brain  enough  for  conducting  life.  But  it  is  still  worse  with  giants; 
and  there  could  never  have  been  a  nation  of  such,  for  there  would  not 
be  food  enough  found  in  any  country  to  sustain  them  ;  or,  if  there  were 
beasts  sufficient  for  this  purpose,  there  would  not  be  grass  enough  for 
their  maintenance.  But  what  is  still  more,  add  others,  giants  could 
never  be  able  to  support  the  weight  of  their  own  bodies  ;  since  a  man 
of  ten  feet  high,  must  be  eight  times  as  heavy  as  one  of  the  ordinary 
stature ;  whereas  he  has  but  twice  the  size  of  muscles  to  support  such 
a  burden,  and  consequently  would  be  overloaded  with  the  weight  of 
his  own  body.  Such  are  the  theories  upon  this  subject,  and  they  re- 
quire no  other  answer,  but  that  experience  proves  them  both  to  be 
false ;  dwarfs  are  found  capable  of  life  and  reason ;  and  giants  are 
seen  to  carry  their  own  bodies.  We  have  several  accounts  from  mari 
ners,  that  a  nation  of  giants  actually  exists,  and  mere  speculation 
should  never  induce  us  to  doubt  their  veracity. 

Ferdinand  Magellan  was  the  first  who  discovered  this  race  of  peo- 
ple along  the  coast,  towards  the  extremity  of  South  America.  Ma- 
gellan was  a  Portuguese,  of  noble  extraction,  who  having  long  behaved 
with  great  bravery,  under  Albuquerque,  the  conqueror  of  India,  he  was 
treated  with  neglect  by  the  court,  upon  his  return.  Applying  there- 
fore, to  the  king  of  Spain,  he  was  intrusted  with  the  command  -i  five 
ships,  to  subdue  the  Molucca  islands,  upon  one  of  which  he  was  slain. 
It  was  in  his  voyage  thither  that  he  happened  to  winter  in  St.  Julian's 
Bay,  an  American  harbour,  forty-nine  degrees  south  of  the  line.  In 
this  desolate  region,  where  nothing  was  seen  but  objects  of  terror, 
where  neither  trees  nor  verdure  drest  the  face  of  the  country,  they 
remained  for  some  months  without  seeing  any  human  creature.  They 
had  judged  the  country  to  be  utterly  uninhabitable,  when  one  day  they 
saw  approaching,  as  if  he  had  been  dropped  from  the  clouds,  a  man  of 
enormous  stature,  dancing  and  singing,  and  putting  dust  upon  his  head, 
as  they  supposed  in  token  of  peace.  This  overture  for  friendship 
was,  by  Magellan's  command,  quickly  answered  by  the  rest  of  his 
men  ;  and  the  giant  approaching,  testified  every  mark  of  astonishment 
and  surprise.  He  was  so  tall,  that  the  Spaniards  only  reached  his 
waist ;  his  face  was  broad,  his  colour  brown,  and  painted  over  with  a 
variety  of  tints ;  each  cheek  had  the  resemblance  of  a  heart  drawn 
upon  it ;  his  hair  was  approaching  to  whiteness ;  he  was  clothed  in 
skins,  and  armed  with  a  bow.  Being  treated  with  kindness,  and  dis- 
missed with  some  trifling  presents,  he  soon  returned  with  many  more 
of  the  same  stature  ;  two  of  whom  the  mariners  decoyed  on  ship  ' 
board  :  nothing  could  be  more  gentle  than  they  were  in  the  beginning  ; 
they  considered  the  fetters  that  were  preparing  for  them  as  ornaments, 
and  played  with  them  like  children  with  their  toys ;  but  when  they 
found  for  what  purpose  they  were  intended,  they  instantly  exerted 
their  amazing  strength,  and  broke  them  in  pieces  with  a  very  easy 
VOL.  i.  R 


258  A  HISTORY  OF 

effort.  This  account,  with  a  variety  of  other  circumstances,  has  been 
confirmed  by  succeeding  travellers:  Herrara,  Sebald  Wert,  Olivei 
Van  Noort,  and  James  le  Maire,  all  correspond  in  affirming  the  fact, 
although  they  differ  in  many  particulars  of  their  respective  descrip- 
tions. The  last  voyager  we  have  had,  that  has  seen  this  enormous 
race,  is  Commodore  Byron.  I  have  talked  with  the  person  who  first 
gave  the  relation  of  that  voyage,  and  who  was  the  carpenter  of  the 
Commodore's  ship ;  he  was  a  sensible,  understanding  man,  and  I 
believe  extremely  faithful.  By  him,  therefore,  I  was  assured,  in  the 
most  solemn  manner,  of  the  truth  of  his  relation ;  and  this  account 
has  since  been  confirmed  by  one  or  two  publications  ;  in  all  which 
the  particulars  are  pretty  nearly  the  same.  One  of  the  circumstances 
which  most  puzzled  me  to  reconcile  to  probability,  was  that  of  the 
horses,  on  which  they  are  described  as  riding  down  to  the  shore.  We 
know  the  American  horse  to  be  of  European  breed  ;  and,  in  some 
measure,  to  be  degenerated  from  the  original.  I  was  at  a  loss,  there- 
fore, to  account  how  a  horse  of  not  more  than  fourteen  hands  high, 
was  capable  of  carrying  a  man  of  nine  feet ;  or,  in  other  words,  an 
animal  almost  as  large  as  itself.  But  the  wonder  will  cease,  when  we 
consider,  that  so  small  a  beast  as  an  ass,  will  carry  a  man  of  ordinary 
size  tolerably  well ;  and  the  proportion  between  this  and  the  former 
instance  is  nearly  exact.  We  can  no  longer,  therefore,  refuse  our  as- 
sent to  the  existence  of  this  gigantic  race  of  mankind ;  in  what  man- 
ner they  are  propagated,  or  under  what  regulations  they  live,  is  a 
subject  that  remains  for  future  investigation.  It  should  appear,  how- 
ever, that  they  are  a  wandering  nation,  cnanging  their  abode  with  the 
course  of  the  sun,  and  shifting  their  situation,  for  the  convenience  of 
food,  climate,  or  pasture.* 

This  race  of  giants  are  described  as  possessed  of  great  strength  ; 
and,  no  doubt  they  must  be  very  different  from  those  accidental  giants 
that  are  to  be  seen  in  different  parts  of  Europe.  Stature,  with  these, 
seems  rather  their  infirmity  than  their  pride  ;  and  adds  to  their  burden, 
without  increasing  their  strength.  Of  those  I  have  seen,  the  generality 
were  ill-formed  and  unhealthful  ;  weak  in  their  persons,  or  incapable 
of  exerting  what  strength  they  were  possessed  of.  The  same  defects 
of  understanding  that  attended  those  of  suppressed  stature,  were  found 
ir  those  who  were  thus  overgrown  :  they  were  heavy,  phlegmatic, 
stupid,  and  inclined  to  sadness.  Their  numbers,  however,  are  but 
few ;  and  it  is  thus  kindly  ordered  by  Providence,  that  as  the  middle 
is  the  state  best  fitted  for  happiness,  so  the  middle  ranks  of  mankind 
are  produced  in  the  greatest  variety. 

However,  mankind  seems  naturally  to  have  a  respect  for  men  of 
extraordinary  stature  ;  and  it  has  been  a  supposition  of  long  standing, 
that  our  ancestors  were  much  taller,  as  well  as  much  more  beautiful, 
than  we.  This  has  been,  indeed,  a  theme  of  poetical  declamation 
from  the  beginning ;  and  man  was  scarce  formed,  when  he  began  to 
deplore  an  imaginary  decay.  Nothing  is  more  natural  than  this  pro 
gross  of  the  mind,  in  looking  up  to  antiquity  with  reverential  wonder 
Having  been  accustomed  to  compare  the  wisdom  of  our  fathers  with 

*  Later  voyagers  have  not  confirmed  this  account,  in  some  particular*. 


ANIMALS.  259 

our  ownj  in  early  imbecility,  the  impression  of  their  superiority  re 
mains  when  they  no  longer  exist,  and  when  we  cease  to  be  inferior. 
Thus  the  men  of  every  age  consider  the  past  as  wiser  than  the  present; 
and  the  reverence  seems  to  accumulate  as  our  imaginations  ascend. 
For  this  reason,  we  allow  remote  antiquity  many  advantages,  without 
disputing  their  title  :  the  inhabitants  of  uncivilized  countries  represent 
them  as  taller  and  stronger ;  and  the  people  of  a  more  polished  na- 
tion, as  more  healthy  and  more  wise.  Nevertheless,  these  attributes 
seem  to  be  only  the  prejudices  of  ingenuous  minds;  a  kind  of  grati- 
tude, which  we  hope  in  turn  to  receive  from  posterity.  The  ordinary 
stature  of  men,  Mr.  Derham  observes,  is,  in  all  probability,  the  same 
now  as  at  the  beginning.  The  oldest  measure  we  have  of  the  human 
figure,  is  in  the  monument  of  Cheops,  in  the  first  pyramid  of  Egypt. 
This  must  have  subsisted  many  hundred  years  before  the  times  of  Ho- 
mer, who  is  the  first  that  deplores  the  decay.  This  monument,  how- 
ever, scarce  exceeds  the  measure  of  our  ordinary  coffins  :  the  cavity  is 
no  more  than  six  feet  long,  two  feet  wide,  and  deep  in  about  the  same 
proportion.  Several  mummies  also,  of  a  very  early  age,  are  found  to 
be  only  of  the  ordinary  stature ;  and  shew  that,  for  these  three  thou- 
sand years  at  least,  men  have  not  suffered  the  least  diminution.  We 
have  many  corroborating  proofs  of  this,  in  the  ancient  pieces  of  ar- 
mour which  are  dug  up  in  different  parts  of  Europe.  The  brass  hel- 
met dug  up  at  Medauro,  fits  one  of  our  men,  and  yet  is  allowed  to 
have  been  left  there  at  the  overthrow  of  Asdrubal.  Some  of  our 
finest  antique  statues,  which  we  learn  from  Pliny  and  others  to  be  ex- 
actly as  big  as  life,  still  continue  to  this  day,  remaining  monuments  of 
the  superior  excellence  of  their  workmen  indeed,  but  not  of  the  supe- 
riority of  their  stature.  We  may  conclude,  therefore,  that  men  have 
been,  in  all  ages,  pretty  much  of  the  same  size  they  are  at  present ; 
and  that  the  only  difference  must  have  been  accidental,  or  perhaps 
national. 

As  to  the  superior  beauty  of  our  ancestors,  it  is  not  easy  to  make 
the  comparison  ;  beauty  seems  a  very  uncertain  charm ;  and  frequently 
is  less  in  the  object,  than  in  the  eye  of  the  beholder.  Were  a  modern 
lady's  face  formed  exactly  like  the  Venus  of  Medicis,  or  the  Sleeping 
Vestal,  she  would  scarce  be  considered  beautiful,  except  by  the  lovers 
of  antiquity,  whom,  of  all  her  admirers,  perhaps,  she  would  be  least 
desirous  of  pleasing.  It  is  true,  that  we  have  some  disorders  among 
us  that  disfigure  the  features,  and  from  which  the  ancients  were  ex- 
empt ;  but  it  is  equally  true,  that  we  want  some  which  were  common 
among  them,  and  which  were  equally  deforming.  As  for  their  intel- 
lectual powers,  these  also  were  probably  the  same  as  ours :  we  excel 
them  in  the  sciences,  which  may  be  considered  as  a  history  of  accu- 
mulated experience  ;  and  they  excel  us  in  the  poetic  arts,  as  they  had 
the  first  rifling  of  all  the  striking  images  of  nature. 


2fiO  A  HISTORY  OF 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

OF  MUMMIES,  WAX-WORKS,  &C 

"  MAN*  is  not  content  with  the  usual  term  of  life,  but  he  is  willing 
to  lengthen  out  his  existence  by  art ;  and  although  he  cannot  prevent 
death,  he  tries  to  obviate  his  dissolution  It  is  natural  to  attempt  to 
preserve  even  the  most  trifling  relics  of  what  has  long  given  us  plea- 
sure ;  nor  does  the  mind  separate  from  the  body,  without  a  wish,  that 
even  the  wretched  heap  of  dust  it  leaves  behind,  may  yet  be  re- 
membered. The  embalming,  practised  in  various  nations,  probably 
had  its  rise  in  this  fond  desire :  an  urn  filled  with  ashes,  among  the 
Romans,  served  as  a  pledge  of  continuing  affection  ;  and  even  the 
grassy  graves  in  our  own  church-yards,  are  raised  above  the  surface, 
with  the  desire  that  the  body  below  should  not  be  wholly  forgotten. 
The  soul,  ardent  after  eternity  for  itself,  is  willing  to  procure,  even 
for  the  body,  a  prolonged  duration." 

But  of  all  nations,  the  Egyptians  carried  this  art  to  the  highest  per- 
fection :  as  it  was  a  principle  of  their  religion,  to  suppose  the  soul 
continued  only  coeval  to  the  duration  of  the  body,  they  tried  every 
art  to  extend  the  life  of  the  one,  by  preventing  the  dissolution  of  the 
other.  In  this  practice  they  were  exercised  from  the  earliest  ages ; 
and  the  mummies  they  have  embalmed  in  this  manner  continue  in 
great  numbers  to  the  present  day.  We  are  told,  in  Genesis,  that  Jo- 
seph seeing  his  father  expire,  gave  orders  to  his  physicians  to  embalm 
the  body,  which  they  executed  in  the  compass  of  forty  days,  the  usual 
time  of  embalming.  Herodotus  also,  the  most  ancient  of  the  profane 
historians,  gives  us  a  copious  detail  of  this  art,  as  it  was  practised,  in 
his  time,  among  the  Egyptians.  There  are  certain  men  among  them, 
says  he,  who  practise  embalming  as  a  trade  ;  which  they  perform  with 
all  expedition  possible.  In  the  first  place,  they  draw  out  the  brain 
through  the  nostrils,  with  irons  adapted  to  this  purpose  ;  and  in  pro- 
portion as  they  evacuate  it  in  this  manner,  they  fill  up  the  cavity  with 
aromatics :  they  next  cut  open  the  bell}',  near  the  sides,  with  a  shar- 
pened stone,  and  take  out  the  entrails,  which  they  cleanse,  and  wash 
in  palm  oil  ;  having  performed  this  operation,  they  roll  them  in  aro- 
matic powder,  fill  them  with  myrrh,  cassia,  and  other  perfumes,  ex- 
cept incense ,  and  replace  them,  sewing  up  the  body  again.  Aftei 
these  precautions,  they  salt  the  body  with  nitre,  and  keep  it  in  the 
salting-place  for  seventy  days,  it  not  being  permitted  to  preserve  it  so 
any  longer.  When  the  seventy  days  are  accomplished,  and  the  body 
washed  once  more,  they  swathe  it  in  bands  made  of  linen,  which  have 
been  dipt  in  a  gum  the  Egyptians  use  instead  of  salt.  When  the 
friends  have  taken  back  the  body,  they  make  a  hollow  trough,  some- 
thing like  the  shape  of  a  man,  in  which  they  place  the  body ;  and 

*  This  chapter  I  have,  in  a  great  measure,  translated  from  Mr.  Daubenton.  Whatever 
<s  added  from  others,  is  marked  with  inverted  commas. 


ANIMALS.  261 

this  tJie>  inclose  in  a  box,  preserving  the  whole  as  a  most  precious* 
relic,  placed  against  the  wall.  Such  are  the  ceremonies  used  with  re- 
gard to  the  rich ;  as  for  those  who  are  contented  with  a  humbler  pre- 
paration, they  treat  them  as  follows :  they  fill  a  syringe  with  an  odo- 
riferous liquor  extracted  from  the  cedar-tree,  and,  without  making  an 
incision,  inject  it  up  the  body  of  the  deceased,  and  then  keep  it  in 
nitre,  as  long  as  in  the  former  case.  When  the  time  is  expired,  they 
evacuate  the  body  of  the  cedar  liquor  which  had  been  injected  ;  and 
such  is  the  effect  of  this  operation,  that  the  liquor  dissolves  the  intes- 
tines, and  brings  them  away  :  the  nitre  also  serves  to  eat  away  the 
flesh,  and  leaves  only  the  skin  and  the  bones  remaining.  This  done, 
the  body  is  returned  to  the  friends,  and  the  embalmer  takes  no  farther 
trouble  about  it.  The  third  method  of  embalming  those  of  the  meanest 
condition,  is  merely  by  purging  and  cleansing  the  intestines  by  fre- 
quent injections,  and  preserving  the  body  for  a  similar  term  in  nitre, 
at  the  end  of  which  it  is  restored  to  the  relations. 

Diodorus  Siculus  also  makes  mention  of  the  manner  in  which  these 
embalmings  are  performed.  According  to  him,  there  were  several 
officers  appointed  for  this  purpose :  the  first  of  them,  who  was  called 
the  scribe,  marked  those  parts  of  the  body,  on  the  left  side,  which 
were  to  be  opened ;  the  cutter  made  the  incision  ;  and  one  of  those 
that  were  to  salt  it,  drew  out  all  the  bowels,  except  the  heart  and  the 
kidneys  ;  another  washed  them  in  palm  wine  and  odoriferous  liquors  ; 
afterwards  they  anointed  for  above  thirty  days  with  cedar,  gum,  myrrh, 
cinnamon,  and  other  perfumes.  These  aromatics  preserved  the  body 
entire  for  a  long  time,  and  gave  it  a  very  agreeable  odour.  It  was 
not  in  the  least  disfigured  by  this  preparation ;  after  which  it  was  re- 
turned to  the  relations,  who  kept  it  in  a  coffin,  placed  upright  against 
a  wall. 

Most  of  the  modern  writers  who  have  treated  on  this  subject,  have 
merely  repeated  what  has  been  said  by  Herodotus  ;  and  if  they  add 
any  thing  of  their  own,  it  is  but  merely  from  conjecture.  Dumont 
observes,  that  it  is  very  probable,  that  aloes,  bitumen,  and  cinnamon, 
make  a  principal  part  of  the  composition  which  is  used  on  this  occa- 
sion :  he  adds,  that,  after  embalming,  the  body  is  put  into  a  coffin, 
made  of  the  sycamore-tree,  which  is  almost  incorruptible.  Mr.  Grew 
remarks,  that  in  an  Egyptian  mummy,  in  the  possession  of  the  Royal 
Society,  the  preparation  was  so  penetrating,  as  to  enter  into  the  very 
substance  of  the  bones,  and  rendered  them  so  black  that  they  seemed  to 
have  been  burnt.  From  this  he  is  induced  to  believe  that  the  Egyp- 
tians had  a  custom  of  embalming  their  dead,  by  boiling  them  in  a  kind 
of  liquid  preparation,  until  all  the  aqueous  parts  of  the  body  were  ex- 
haled away ;  and  until  the  oily  or  gummy  matter  had  penetrated 
throughout.  He  proposes,  in  consequence  of  this,  a  method  of  ma- 
cerating, and  afterwards  of  boiling  the  dead  body  in  oil  of  walnut. 

I  am,  for  my  own  part,  of  opinion  that  there  were  several  ways  of 
preserving  dead  bodies  from  putrefaction  ;  and  that  this  would  de  no 
lifficult  matter,  since  different  nations  have  all  succeeded  in  the  at- 
tempt. We  have  an  example  of  this  kind  among  the  Guanches,  the 
ancient  inhabitants  of  the  island  of  Teneriff.  Those  who  survived 
(he  general  destruction  of  this  people  by  the  Spaniards,  when  th*»v 


262  A  HISTORY  OF 

<ronquei«i]  this  island,  informed  them  that  the  art  of  embalming  was 
btill  preserved  there  ;  and  that  there  was  a  tribe  of  priests  among  them 
possessed  of  the  secret,  which  they  kept  concealed  as  a  sacred  mys- 
tery. As  the  greatest  part  of  the  nation  was  destroyed,  the  Spaniards 
could  not  arrive  at  a  complete  knowledge  of  this  art ;  they  only  found 
out  a  few  of  the  particulars.  Having  taken  out  the  bowels,  they  washed 
the  body  several  times  in  a  lee,  made  of  the  dried  bark  of  the  pine- 
tree,  warmed  during  the  summer  by  the  sun,  or  by  a  stove  in  the  win- 
ter. They  afterwards  anointed  it  with  butter,  or  the  fat  of  bears, 
which  they  had  previously  boiled  with  odoriferous  herbs,  such  as  sage 
and  lavender.  After  this  unction,  they  suffered  the  body  to  dry,  and 
then  repeated  the  operation  as  often  as  it  was  necessary,  until  the 
whole  substance  was  impregnated  with  the  preparation.  When  it 
was  become  very  light,  it  was  then  a  certain  sign  that  it  was  fit  and 
properly  prepared.  They  then  rolled  it  up  in  the  dried  skins  of  goats  ; 
which,  when  they  had  a  mind  to  save  expense,  they  suffered  to  remain 
with  the  hair  still  growing  upon  them.  Purchas  assures  us,  that  he 
has  seen  mummies  of  this  kind  in  London  ;  and  mentions  the  name  of 
a  gentleman  who  had  seen  several  of  them  in  the  island  of  Teneriff, 
which  were  supposed  to  have  been  two  thousand  years  old  ;  but  with- 
out any  certain  proofs  of  such  great  antiquity.  This  people,  who 
probably  came  first  from  the  coasts  of  Africa,  might  have  learned  this 
art  from  the  Egyptians,  as  there  was  a  traffic  carried  on  from  thence 
into  the  most  internal  parts  of  Africa. 

Father  Acosta  and  Garcilasso  de  la  Vega  make  no  doubt  but  thaf 
the  Peruvians  understood  the  art  of  preserving  their  dead  for  a  very 
long  space  of  time.  They  assert  their  having  seen  the  bodies  of  seve 
ral  incas,  that  were  perfectly  preserved.  They  still  preserved  their 
hair  and  their  eye-brows ;  but  they  had  eyes  made  of  gold,  put  in  the 
places  of  those  taken  out.  They  were  clothed  in  their  usual  habits, 
and  seated  in  the  manner  of  the  Indians,  their  arms  placed  on  their 
breasts.  Garcilasso  touched  one  of  their  fingers,  and  found  it  appa- 
rently as  hard  as  wood  ;  and  the  whole  body  was  not  heavy  enough  to 
overburden  a  weak  man  who  should  attempt  to  carry  it  away.,  Acosta 
presumes  that  these  bodies  were  embalmed  with  bitumen,  of  which 
the  Indians  knew  the  properties.  Garcilasso,  however,  is  of  a  differ- 
ent opinion,  as  he  saw  nothing  bituminous  about  them  ;  but  he  con- 
fesses that  he  did  not  examine  them  very  particularly,  and  he  regrets 
his  not  having  inquired  into  the  methods  used  for  that  purpose.  He 
adds,  that  being  a  Peruvian,  his  countrymen  would  not  have  scrupled 
to  inform  him  of  the  secret,  if  they  really  had  it  still  among  them. 

Garcilasso,  thus  being  ignorant  of  the  secret,  makes  use  of  some  in- 
ductions to  throw  light  upon  the  subject ;  he  asserts  that  the  air  is  so 
dry  and  so  cold  at  Cusco,  that  flesh  dries  there  like  wood,  without 
corrupting;  and  he  is  of  opinion  that  they  dried  the  body  in  snow, 
before  they  applied  the  bitumen  :  he  adds,  that  in  the  times  of  the 
incas* they  usually  dried  the  flesh  which  was  designed  for  the  use  of 
the  army  ;  and  that  when  they  had  lost  their  humidity,  they  might  be 
kept  without  salt,  or  any  other  preparation. 

it  is  said,  that  at  Spitsbergen,  which  lies  within  the  arctic  circle 
-nd,  consequently,  in  the  coldest  climate,  bodies  never  corrupt,  nor 


ANIMALS.  263 

* 

sutler  any  apparent  alteration,  even  though  buried  for  thirty  years  : 
nothing  corrupts  or  putrefies  in  that  climate  ;  the  wood  which  has 
been  employed  in  building  those  houses  where  the  train-oil  is  separa- 
ted, appears  as  fresh  as  the  day  it  was  first  cut. 

If  excessive  cold,  therefore,  be  thus  capable  of  preserving  bodies 
from  corruption,  it  is  not  less  certain  that  a  great  degree  of  dryness, 
produced  by  heat,  produces  the  same  effect.  It  is  well  known  that 
the  men  and  animals  that  are  buried  in  the  sands  of  Arabia,  quickly 
dry  up,  and  continue  in  preservation  for  several  ages,  as  if  they  hao 
been  actually  embalmed.  It  has  often  happened,  that  whole  caravans 
have  perished  in  crossing  those  deserts,  either  by  the  burning  winds 
that  infest  them,  or  by  the  sands  which  are  raised  by  the  tempest,  and 
overwhelm  every  creature  in  certain  ruin.  The  bodies  of  those  per- 
sons are  preserved  entire ;  and  they  are  often  found  in  this  condition 
by  some  accidental  passenger.  Many  authors,  both  ancient  and 
modern,  make  mention  of  such  mummies  as  these ;  and  Shaw  says 
that  he  has  been  assured  that  numbers, of  men,  as  well  as  other  ani- 
mals, have  been  thus  preserved,  for  times  immemorial,  in  the  burning 
sands  of  Saibah,  which  is  a  place,  he  supposes,  situate  between  Rasem 
and  Egypt. 

The  corruption  of  dead  bodies  being  entirely  caused  by  the  fer- 
mentation of  the  humours,  whatever  is  capable  of  hindering  or  retard- 
ing this  fermentation,  will  contribute  to  their  preservation.  Both  heat 
and  cold,  though  so  contrary  in  themselves,  produce  similar  effects  in 
this  particular,  by  drying  up  the  humours.  The  cold  in  condensing 
and  thickening  them,  and  the  heat  in  evaporating  them  before  they 
have  time  to  act  upon  the  solids.  But  it  is  necessary  that  these  ex- 
tremes should  be  constant ;  for  if  they  succeed  each  other  so  as  that 
cold  shall  follow  heat,  or  dryness  humidity,  it  must  then  necessarily 
happen,  that  corruption  must  ensue.  However,  in  temperate  cli- 
mates, there  are  natural  causes  capable  of  preserving  dead  bodies, 
among  which  we  may  reckon  the  quality  of  the  earth  in  which  they 
are  buried.  If  the  earth  be  drying  and  astringent,  it  will  imbibe  the 
humidity  of  the  body ;  and  it  may  probably  be  for  this  reason  that  the/ 
bodies  buried  in  the  monastery  of  the  Cordeliers,  at  Thoulouse,  do 
not  putrefy,  but  dry  in  such  a  manner  that  they  may  be  lifted  up  by 
one  arm. 

The  gums,  resins,  and  bitumens,  with  which  dead  bodies  are  em- 
balmed, keep  off  the  impressions  which  they  would  else  receive  from 
the  alteration  of  the  temperature  of  the  air;  and  still  more,  if  a  body 
thus  prepared  be  placed  in  a  dry  or  burning  sand,  the  most  powerful 
means  will  be  united  for  its  preservation.  We  are  not  to  be  surprised, 
therefore,  at  what  we  are  told  by  Chardin,  of  thecountry  of  Chorosan, 
in  Persia.  The  bodies  which  have  been  previously  embalmed,  and 
buried  in  the  sands  of  that  country,  as  he  assures  us,  are  found  to  pe- 
trify :  or,  in  other  words,  to  become  extremely  hard,  and  are  preserved 
for  several  ages.  It  is  asserted  that  some  of  them  have  continued  for 
a  thousand  years 

The  Egyptians,  as  has  been  mentioned  above,  swathed  the  body 
with  linen  bands,  and  inclosed  it  in  a  coffin  ;  however,  it  is  probable 
that  with  all  these  precautions,  they  would  not  have  continued  tiL 


264  A  HISTORY  OF 

now,  if  the  tombs,  or  pits,  in  which  they  were  placed,  had  not  been 
dug  in  a  dry,  chalky  soil,  which  was  not  susceptible  of  humidity ;  and 
which  was,  besides,  covered  over  with  a  dry  sand  of  several  feet 
thickness. 

The  sepulchres  of  the  ancient  Egyptians  subsist  to  this  day.  Most 
travellers  who  have  been  in  Egypt  have  described  those  of  ancient 
mummies,  and  have  seen  the  mummies  interred  there.  These  cata- 
combs are  within  two  leagues  of  the  ruins  of  this  city,  nine  leagues 
from  Grand  Cairo,  and  about  two  miles  from  the  village  of  Zaccara. 
They  extend  from  thence  to  the  Pyramids  of  Pharaoh,  which  are 
about  eight  miles  distant.  These  sepulchres  lie  in  a  field,  covered 
with  a  fine  running  sand,  of  a  yellowish  colour.  The  country  is  dry 
and  hilly  ;  the  entrance  of  the  tomb  is  choaked  up  with  sand ;  there 
are  many  open,  but  several  more  that  are  still  concealed.  The  in- 
habitants of  the  neighbouring  village  have  no  other  commerce,  or 
method  of  subsisting,  but  by  seeking  out  mummies,  and  selling  them 
to  such  strangers  as  happen  to  be  at  Grand  Cairo.  "  This  commerce, 
some  years  ago,  was  not  only  a  very  common,  but  a  very  gainful  one. 
A  complete  mummy  was  often  sold  for  twenty  pounds :  but  it  must 
not  be  supposed  that  it  was  bought  at  such  a  high  price  from  a  mere 
passion  for  antiquity  ;  there  were  much  more  powerful  motives  for 
this  traffic.  Mummy,  at  that  time,  made  a  considerable  article  in  me- 
dicine ;  and  a  thousand  imaginary  virtues  were  ascribed  to  it,  for  the 
cure  of  most  disorders,  particularly  of  the  paralytic  kind.  There 
was  no  shop,  therefore,  without  mummy  in  it ;  and  no  physician 
thought  he  had  properly  treated  his  patient,  without  adding  this  to 
his  prescription.  Induced  by  the  general  repute,  in  which  this  sup- 
posed drug  was  at  that  time,  several  Jews,  both  of  Italy  and  France, 
found  out  the  art  of  imitating  mummy  so  exactly,  that  they,  for  a  long 
time,  deceived  all  Europe.  This  they  did  by  drying  dead  bodies  in 
ovens,  after  having  prepared  them  with  myrrh,  aloes,  and  bitumen. 
Still,  however,  the  request  for  mummies  continued,  and  a  variety  of 
cures  were  daily  ascribed  to  them.  At  length,  Pareeus  wrote  a  treatise 
on  their  total  inefficacy  in  physic ;  and  showed  their  abuse  in  load- 
ing the  stomach,  to  the  exclusion  of  more  efficacious  medicines. 
From  that  time,  therefore,  their  reputation  began  to  decline ;  the 
Jews  discontinued  their  counterfeits,  and  the  trade  returned  entire  to 
the  Egyptians,  when  it  was  no  longer  of  value.  The  industry  of 
seeking  after  mummies  is  now  totally  relaxed,  their  price  merely  ar- 
bitrary, and  just  what  the  curious  are  willing  to  give. 

In  seeking  for  mummies,  they  first  clear  away  the  sand,  which  they 
may  do  for  weeks  together,  without  finding  what  is  wanted.  Upon 
coming  to  a  little  square  opening  of  about  eighteen  feet  in  depth, 
they  descended  into  it,  by  holes  for  the  feet,  placed  at  proper  inter 
vals,  and  there  they  are  sure  of  finding  what  they  seek  for.  These 
caves,  or  wells,  as  they  call  them,  are  hollowed  out  of  a  white  free- 
stone, which  is  found  in  all  this  country,  a  few  feet  below  the  cover- 
ing of  sand.  When  one  gets  to  the  bottom  of  these,  which  are 
sometimes  fort"  feet  below  the  surface,  there  are  several  square 
openings,  on  each  side,  into  passages  of  ten  or  fifteen  feet  wide,  and 
these  lead  to  chambers  of  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  square.  Tlte^c  are 


ANIMALS.  265 

all  newn  out  of  the  rock  ;  and  in  each  of  the  catacombs  are  to 
be  found  several  of  these  apartments,  communicating  with  each  other. 
They  extend  a  great  way  under  ground  so  as  to  be  under  the  city  of 
Memphis,  and  in  a  manner  to  undermine  its  environs. 

In  some  of  the  chambers,  the  walls  are  adorned  with  figures  and 
hieroglyphics ;  in  others,  the  mummies  are  found  in  tombs  round  the 
apartment  hollowed  out  in  the  rock.  These  tombs  are  upright,  and 
cut  into  the  shape  of  a  man,  with  his  arms  stretched  out,  There  are 
others  found,  and  these  in  the  greatest  number,  in  wooden  coffins,  or 
in  cloths  covered  with  bitumen.  These  coffins,  or  wrappers,  are  co- 
vered all  over  with  a  variety  of  ornaments.  There  are  some  of  them 
painted,  and  adorned  with  figures,  such  as  that  of  Death,  and  the 
leaden  seals,  on  which  several  characters  are  engraven.  Some  of 
these  coffins  are  carved  into  the  human  shape ;  but  the  head  alone  is 
distinguishable ;  the  rest  of  the  body  is  all  of  a  piece,  and  termi- 
nated by  a  pedestal,  while  there  are  some  with  their  arms  hanging 
down  ;  and  it  is  by  these  marks  that  the  bodies  of  persons  of  rank 
are  distinguished  from  those  of  the  meaner  order.  These  are  gene- 
rally found  lying  on  the  floor,  without  any  profusion  of  ornaments  ; 
and,  in  some  chambers  the  mummies  are  found  indiscriminately  piled 
upon  each  other,  and  buried  in  the  sand. 

Many  mummies  are  found  lying  on  their  backs  ;  their  heads  turned 
to  the  north,  and  their  hands  placed  on  the  belly.  The  bands  of 
linen,  with  which  these  were  swathed,  are  found  to  be  more  than  a 
thousand  yards  long ;  and,  of  consequence,  the  number  of  circum- 
volutions they  make  about  the  body  must  have  been  amazing.  These 
were  performed  by  the  beginning  at  the  head,  and  ending  at  the  feet ; 
but  they  contrived  it  so  as  to  avoid  covering  the  face.  However, 
when  the  face  is  entirely  uncovered,  it  moulders  into  dust  imme- 
diately upon  the  admission  of  the  air.  When,  therefore,  it  is  pre- 
served entire,  a  slight  covering  of  cloth  is  so  disposed  over  it,  as  that 
the  shape  of  the  eyes,  the  nose,  and  the  mouth,  are  seen  under  it. 
Some  mummies  have  been  found  with  a  long  beard,  and  hair  that 
reached  down  to  the  mid-leg,  nails  of  a  surprising  length,  and  some 
gilt,  or  at  least  painted  of  a  gold  colour.  Some  are  found  with 
bands  upon  the  breast,  covered  with  hieroglyphics,  in  gold,  silver, 
or  in  green :  and  some  with  tutelary  idols,  and  other  figures  of  jasper, 
within  their  body.  A  piece  of  gold,  also,  has  often  been  found  under 
their  tongues,  of  about  two  pistoles  value  ;  and,  for  this  reason,  the 
Arabians  spoil  all  the  mummies  they  meet  with,  in  order  to  get  at  the 
gold. 

But  though  art,  or  accident,  has  thus  been  found  to  preserve  dead 
bodies  entire,  it  must  by  no  means  be  supposed  that  it  is  capable  of 
preserving  the  exact  form  and  lineaments  of  the  deceased  person. 
Those  bodies  which  are  found  dried  away  in  the  deseits,  or  in  some 
particular  church-yards,  are  totally  deformed,  and  scarce  any  linea- 
jients  remain  of  their  external  structure.  Nor  are  the  mummies 
preserved  by  embalming,  in  a  better  condition.  The  flesh  is  dried 
away,  Hardened,  and  hidden  under  a  variety  of  bandages  ;  the  bowels, 
as  we  have  seen,  are  totally  removed  ;  and  from  hence,  in  the  most 
perfect  of  them,  we  see  only  a  shapeless  mass  of  skin  discoloured 


260  A  HISTORY  OF 

and  even  the  features  scarce  distinguishable.  The  art  is,  therefore, 
an  efforc  rather  of  preserving  the  substance  than  the  likeness  of  the 
deceased ;  and  has,  consequently,  not  been  brought  to  its  highest 
pitch  of  perfection.  It  appears  from  a  mummy,  not  long  since  dug 
up  in  France,  that  the  art  of  embalming  was  more  completely  mi 
derstood  in  the  western  world  than  even  in  Egypt.  This  mummy, 
which  was  dug  up  at  Auvergne,  was  an  amazing  instance  of  their  skill, 
and  is  one  of  the  most  curious  relics  in  the  art  of  preservation.  As 
some  peasants,  in  that  part  of  the  world,  were  digging  in  a  field  near 
Rion,  within  about  twenty-six  paces  of  the  highway,  between  that 
and  the  river  Artier,  they  discovered  a  tomb,  about  a  foot  and  a 
half  beneath  the  surface.  It  was  composed  only  of  two  stones  ;  one 
of  which  formed  the  body  of  the  sepulchre,  and  the  other  the  cover. 
This  tomb  was  of  free-stone  ;  seven  feet  and  a  half  long,  three  feet 
and  a  half  broad,  and  about  three  feet  high.  It  was  of  rude  work- 
manship ;  the  cover  had  been  polished,  but  was  without  figure  or  in- 
scription :  within  this  tomb  was  placed  a  leaden  coffin,  four  feet  seven 
inches  long,  fourteen  inches  broad,  and  fifteen  high.  It  was  not  made 
coffin-fashion,  but  oblong,  like  a  box,  equally  broad  at  both  ends, 
and  covered  with  a  lid  that  fitted  on  like  a  snuff-box,  without  a  hinge. 
This  cover  had  two  holes  in  it,  each  of  about  two  inches  longr,  and 
very  narrow,  filled  with  a  substance  resembling  butter ;  but  for  what 
purpose  intended  remains  unknown.  Within  this  coffin  was  a  mum- 
my, in  the  highest  and  most  perfect  preservation.  The  internal  sides 
of  the  coffin  were  filled  with  an  aromatic  substance,  mingled  with 
clay.  Round  the  mummy  was  wrapped  a  coarse  cloth,  in  form 
of  a  napkin  ;  under  this  were  two  shirts,  or  shrouds,  of  the  most  ex- 
quisite texture ;  beneath  these  a  bandage,  which  covered  all  parts  of 
the  body,  like  an  infant  in  swaddling  clothes  ;  still  under  this  general 
bandage  there  was  another,  which  went  particularly  round  the  ex- 
tremities, the  hands,  and  the  legs.  The  head  was  covered  with  two 
caps ;  the  feet  and  hands  were  without  any  particular  bandages  ;  and 
the  whole  body  was  covered  with  an  aromatic  substance,  an  inch 
thick.  When  these  were  removed,  and  the  body  exposed  naked  to 
view,  nothing  could  be  more  astonishing  than  the  preservation  of  the 
whole,  and  the  exact  resemblance  it  bore  to  a  body  that  had  been 
dead  a  day  or  two  before.  It  appeared  well  proportioned,  except 
that  the  head  was  rather  large,  and  the  feet  small.  The  skin  had  all 
the  pliancy  and  colour  of  a  body  lately  dead  :  the  visage,  however, 
was  of  a  brownish  hue.  The  belly  yielded  to  the  touch  ;  all  the 
joints  were  flexible,  except  those  of  the  legs  and  feet ;  the  fingers 
stretched  forth  of  themselves  when  bent  inwards.  The  nails  still 
continued  entire  ;  and  all  the  marks  of  the  joints,  both  in  the  fingers, 
the  palms  of  the  hands,  and  the  soles  of  the  feet,  remained  perfectly 
visible.  The  bones  of  the  arms  and  legs  were  soft  and  pliant  ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  those  of  the  skull  preserved  their  rigidity  ;  the  hair, 
whicn  *>nly  covered  the  back  of  the  head,  was  of  a  chesnut  colour, 
and  a-jout  two  inches  long.  The  pericranium  at  top  was  separated 
from  the  skull  by  an  incision,  in  order  to  open  it  for  the  introducing 
proper  aromatics  in  the  place  of  the  brain,  where  they  were  found 
mixed  with  clay.  The  teeth,  the  tongue,  and  the  ears,  were  all  pre>- 


ANIMALS.  267 

served  in  perfect  form.  The  intestines  were  not  taken  out  of  the 
body,  but  remained  pliant  and  entire,  as  in  a  fresh  subject ;  and  the 
breast  was  made  to  rise  and  fall  like  a  pair  of  bellows.  The  embalm- 
ing preparation  had  a  very  strong  and  pungent  smell,  which  the  body 
preserved  for  more  than  a  month  after  it  was  exposed  to  the  air.  This 
odour  was  perceived  wherever  the  mummy  was  laid,  although  it  remain- 
ed there  but  a  very  short  time,  it  was  even  pretended  that  the  peasants 
of  the  neighbouring  villages  were  incommoded  by  it.  If  one  touched 
either  the  mummy,  or  any  part  of  the  preparation,  the  hands  smelied 
of  it  for  several  hours  after,  although  washed  with  water,  spirit  ot 
wine,  or  vinegar.  This  mummy,  having  remained  exposed  for  some 
months  to  the  curiosity  of  the  public,  began  to  suffer  some  mutilations. 
A  part  of  the  skin  of  the  forehead  was  cut  off,  the  teeth  were  drawn 
out,  and  some  attempts  were  made  to  pull  away  the  tongue.  It  was 
therefore,  put  into  a  glass  case,  and  shortly  after  transmitted  to  the 
king  of  France's  cabinet  at  Paris. 

There  are  many  reasons  to  believe  this  to  be  the  body  of  a  person 
of  the  highest  distinction ;  however,  no  marks  remain  to  assure  us 
either  of  the  quality  of  the  person,  or  the  time  of  his  decease.  There 
only  are  to  be  seen  some  irregular  figures  on  the  coffin,  one  of  which 
represents  a  kind  of  star.  There  were  also  some  singular  characters 
upon  the  bandages,  which  were  totally  defaced  by  those  who  had  torn 
them  away.  However,  it  should  seem  that  it  had  remained  for  several 
ages  in  this  state,  since  the  first  years  immediately  succeeding  the  in- 
terment, are  usually  those  in  which  the  body  is  most  liable  to  decay. 
It  appears  also  to  be  a  much  more  perfect  method  of  embalming  than 
that  of  the  Egyptians;  as  in  this  the  flesh  continues  with  its  natural 
elasticitv  and  colour,  the  bowels  remain  entire,  and  the  joints  have 
almost  the  pliancy  which  they  had  when  the  person  was  alive.  Upon 
the  whole,  it  is  probable  that  a  much  less  tedious  preparation  than 
that  vised  by  the  Egyptians  would  have  sufficed  to  keep  the  body  from 
putrefaction  ;  and  that  an  injection  of  petreoleum  inwardly,  and  a 
layer  of  asphaltum  without,  would  have  sufficed  to  have  made  a 
mummy ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that  Auvergne,  where  this  was  found, 
affords  these  two  substances  in  sufficient  plenty.  This  art,  therefore, 
might  be  brought  to  greater  perfection  than  it  has  arrived  at  hitherto, 
were  the  art  worth  preserving.  But  mankind  have  long  since  grown 
wiser  in  this  respect,  and  think  it  unnecessary  to  keep  by  them  a  de- 
formed carcass,  which,  instead  of  aiding  their  magnificence,  must  only 
serve  to  mortify  their  pride. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

OP    ANIMALS. 

LEAVING  man,  we  now  descend  to  the  lower  ranks  of  animated  na 
ture,  and  prepare  to  examine  the  life,  manners,  and  characters  of 
these  our  humble  partners  in  the  creation.  Rut,  in  such  a  wonderfu,' 


268  A  HISTORY  OF 

variety  as  is  diffused  around  us,  where  shall  we  begin  !  The  numbet 
of  beings  endued  with  life,  as  well  as  we,  seems,  at  first  view,  infinite. 
Not  only  the  forest,  the  waters,  the  air  teems  with  animals  of  various 
kinds;  but  almost  every  vegetable,  every  leaf,  has  millions  of  minute 
inhabitants,  each  of  which  fill  up  the  circle  of  its  allotted  life,  and 
,  some  of  which  are  found  objects  of  the  greatest  curiosity.  In  this 
seeming  exuberance  of  animals,  it  is  natural  for  ignorance  to  lie  down 
in  hopeless  uncertainty,  and  to  declare  what  requires  labour  to  par- 
ticularize to  be  utterly  inscrutable.  It  is  otherwise,  however,  with 
the  active  and  searching  mind  ;  no  way  intimidated  with  the  immense 
variety,  it  begins  the  task  of  numbering,  grouping,  and  classing  all  the 
various  kinds  that  fall  within  its  notice  ;  finds  every  day  new  relations 
between  the  several  parts  of  the  creation  ;  acquires  the  art  of  con- 
sidering several  at  a  time  under  one  point  of  view,  and  at  last  begins 
to  find  that  the  variety  is  neither  so  great  nor  so  inscrutable  as  was  at 
first  imagined.  As  in  a  clear  night,  the  number  of  the  stars  seems  in- 
finite ;  yet,  if  we  sedulously  attend  to  each  in  his  place,  and  regularly 
class  them,  they  will  soon  be  found  to  diminish,  and  come  within  a 
scanty  computation. 

Method  is  one  of  the  principal  helps  in  natural  history,  and  without 
it  very  little  progress  can  be  made  in  this  science.  It  is  by  that 
alone  we  can  hope  to  dissipate  the  glare,  if  I  may  so  express  it, 
which  arises  from  a  multiplicity  of  objects  at  once  presenting  them- 
selves to  the  view.  It  is  method  that  fixes  the  attention  to  one  point, 
and  leads  it,  by  slow  and  certain  degrees,  to  leave  no  part  of  nature 
unobserved. 

All  naturalists,  therefore,  have  been  very  careful  in  adopting  some 
method  of  classing  or  grouping  the  several  parts  of  nature  ;  and  some 
have  written  books  of  natural  history  with  no  other  view.  These 
methodical  divisions  some  have  treated  with  contempt,*  not  consider- 
ing that  books,  in  general,  are  written  with  opposite  views ;  some  to 
be  read,  and  some  only  to  be  occasionally  consulted.  The  methodists 
in  natural  history,  seem  to  be  content  with  the  latter  advantage ;  and 
have  sacrificed  to  order  alone,  all  the  delights  of  the  subject,  all  the 
arts  of  heightening,  awakening,  or  continuing  curiosity.  But  they  cer 
tainly  have  the  same  use  in  science  that  a  dictionary  has  in  language : 
but  with  this  difference,  that  in  a  dictionary  we  proceed  from  the  name 
to  the  definition  ;  in  a  system  of  natural  history,  we  proceed  from  the 
definition  to  find  out  the  thing.  Without  the  aid  of  system,  nature 
must  still  have  lain  undistinguished,  like  furniture  in  a  lumber-room  : 
every  thing  we  wish  for  is  there,  indeed ;  but  we  know  not  where  to 
find  it.  If,  for  instance,  in  a  morning  excursion,  I  find  a  plant,  or  an 
insect,  the  name  of  which  I  desire  to  learn ;  or,  perhaps,  am  curious 
1o  know  whether  already  known  ;  in  this  inquiry  I  can  expect  infor- 
mation only  from  one  of  these  systems,  which,  being  couched  in  a 
methodical  form,  quickly  directs  me  to  what  I  seek  for.  Tbns  we  will 
suppose  that  our  inquirer  has  met  with  a  spider,  and  that  he  has  never 
seen  such  an  insect  before.  He  is  taught  by  the  writer  Df  a  <sy*»omt 
to  examine  whether  it  has  wings,  and  he  finds  that  it  has  none  fie 

*  Mr.  Button,  in  his  Introduction,  &c.  (•  Linnaeus 


ANIMALS.  269 

therefore  is  to  look  for  it  among  the  wingless  insects,  or  the  Apter?v, 
as  Linnaeus  calls  them  :  he  then  is  to  see  whether  the  head  and  bi  east 
make  one  part  of  the  body,  or  are  disunited  ;  he  finds  they  make  one 
ne  is  then  to  reckon  the  number  of  feet  and  eyes,  and  he  finds  that 
it  has  eight  of  each.  The  insect,  therefore,  must  be  either  a  scor- 
pion or  a  spider ;  but  he  lastly  examines  its  feelers,  which  he  finds 
clavated,  or  clubbed  ;  and,  by  all  these  marks,  he  at  last  discovers 
it  to  be  a  spider.  Of  spiders,  there  are  forty-seven  sorts  ;  and,  by 
reading  the  description  of  each,  the  inquirer  will  learn  the  name  of 
that  which  he  desires  to  know.  With  the  name  of  the  insect,  he  is 
also  directed  to  those  authors  that  have  given  any  account  of  it,  and 
the  page  where  that  account  is  to  be  found  ;  by  this  means  he  may 
know  at  once  what  has  been  said  of  that  animal  by  others,  and  what 
there  is  of  novelty  in  the  result  of  his  own  researches. 

From  hence,  it  will  appear  how  useful  these  systems  in  natural 
history  are  to  the  inquirer  ;  but,  having  given  them  all  their  merit,  it 
would  be  wrong  not  to  observe,  that  they  have,  in  general,  been  very 
much  abused.  Their  authors,  in  general,  seem  to  think  that  they  are 
improvers  of  natural  history,  when  in  reality  they  are  but  guides  ; 
they  seem  to  boast  that  they  are  adding  to  our  knowledge,  while 
they  are  only  arranging  it.  These  authors,  also,  seem  to  think  that 
the  reading  of  their  works  and  systems,  is  the  best  method  to  attain 
a  knowledge  of  nature ;  but,  setting  aside  the  impossibility  of  getting 
through  whole  volumes  of  a  dry  long  catalogue,  the  multiplicity  of 
whose  contents  is  too  great  for  even  the  strongest  memory,  such 
works  rather  tell  us  the  names  than  the  history  of  the  creature  we 
desire  to  inquire  after.  In  these  dreary  pages,  every  insect,  or  plant, 
that  has  a  name,  makes  as  distinguished  a  figure  as  the  most  wonder- 
ful, or  the  most  useful.  The  true  end  of  studying  nature  is  to  make 
a  just  selection,  to  find  those  parts  of  it  that  most  conduce  to  our 
pleasure  or  convenience,  and  to  leave  the  rest  in  noglect.  But  these 
systems,  employing:  the  same  degree  of  attention  upon  all,  give  us  no 
opportunities  of  knowing  which  most  deserves  attention  ;  and  he  who 
has  made  his  knowledge  from  such  systems  only,  has  his  memory 
crowded  with  a  number  of  trifling,  or  minute  particulars,  which  it 
should  be  his  business  and  his  labour  to  forget.  These  books,  as  was 
said  before,  are  useful  to  be  consulted,  but  they  are  very  unnecessary 
to  be  read  ;  no  inquirer  into  nature  should  be  without  one  of  them ; 
and,  without  any  doubt,  Linnaeus  deserves  the  preference. 

One  fault  more,  in  almost  all  these  systematic  writers,  and  that  which 
leads  me  to  the  subject  of  the  present  chapter,  is,  that  seeing  the 
necessity  of  methodical  distribution  in  some  parts  of  nature,  they 
have  introduced  it  into  all.  Finding  the  utility  of  arranging  plants, 
birds,  or  insects,  they  have  arranged  quadrupeds  aiso  with  the  Same 
assiduity  ;  and  although  the  number  of  these  is  so  few  as  not  to  ex- 
ceed two  hundred,*  they  have  darkened  the  subject  with  distinctions 
and  divisions,  which  only  serve  to  puzzle  and  perplex.  All  method 
is  only  useful  in  giving  perspicuity,  where  the  subject  is  either  dark 

*  In  Dr.  Shaw's  General  Zoology,  the  number  of  quadrupeds,  not  including  the  ceta/*eoui 
and  seal  tribes,  aroint  to  five  hundred  and  twelve,  besides  th'^ir  varieties. 


270  A  HISTORY  OF 

or  copious  :  but  with  regard  to  quadrupeds,  the  number  is  but  few  ; 
many  of  them  we  are  well  acquainted  with  by  habit;  and  the  rest 
may  verv  readily  be  known,  without  any  method.  In  treating  of 
such,  therefore,  it  would  be  useless  to  confound  the  reader  with  a 
multiplicity  of  divisions ;  as  quadrupeds  are  conspicuous  enough  to 
obtain  the  second  rank  in  nature,  it  becomes  us  to  be  acquainted 
with,  at  least,  the  names  of  them  all.  However,  as  there  are  na- 
turalists who  have  gained  a  name  from  the  excellence  of  their  me- 
thods in  classing  these  animals,  some  readers  may  desire  to  have  a 
knowledge  of  what  has  been  laboriously  invented  for  their  instruction. 
I  will  just  take  leave,  therefore,  to  mention  the  most  applauded 
methods  of  classing  animals,  as  adopted  by  Ray,  Klein,  and  Lin- 
naeus ;  for  it  often  happens,  that  the  terms  which  have  been  long 
used  in  a  science,  though  frivolous,  become  by  prescription  a  part  of 
the  science  itself. 

Ray,  after  Aristotle,  divides  all  animals  into  two  kinds ;  those 
which  have  blood,  and  those  which  are  bloodless.  In  the  last  class, 
he  places  all  the  insect  tribes.  The  former  he  divides  into  such  as 
breathe  through  the  lungs,  and  such  as  breathe  through  gills :  these 
last  comprehend  the  fishes.  In  those  which  breathe  through  the  lungs, 
some  have  the  heart  composed  of  two  ventricles,  and  some  have  it  of 
one.  Of  the  last  are  all  animals  of  the  cetaceous  kind,  all  oviparous 
quadrupeds,  and  serpents.  Of  those  that  have  two  ventricles,  some 
are  oviparous,  which  are  the  birds  ;  and  some  viviparous,  which  are 
quadrupeds.  The  quadrupeds  he  divides  into  such  as  have  a  hoof, 
such  as  are  claw-footed.  Those  with  the  hoof,  he  divides  all  such 
such  as  have  it  undivided,  such  as  have  it  cloven,  and  such  as 
have  the  hoof  divided  into  more  parts,  as  the  rhinoceros,  and  hip- 
popotamos.  Animals  with  the  cloven  hoof,  he  divides  into  such  as 
chew  the  cud,  such  as  the  cow,  and  the  sheep  ;  and  such  as  are  not 
ruminant,  as  the  hog.  He  divides  those  animals  that  chew  the  cud, 
into  four  kinds :  the  first  have  hollow  horns,  which  they  never  shed, 
as  the  cow  ;  the  second  is  of  a  less  species,  and  is  of  the  sheep  kind  ; 
the  third  is  of  the  goat  kind ;  and  the  last,  which  have  solid  horns, 
and  shed  them  annually,  are  of  the  deer  kind.  Coming  to  the  claw- 
footed  animals,  he  finds  some  with  large  claws,  resembling  the 
fingers  of  the  human  hand  ;  and  these  he  makes  the  ape  kind.  Of 
the  others,  some  have  the  foot  divided  into  two,  and  have  a  claw  to 
each  division  ;  these  are  the  camel  kind.  The  elephant  makes  a 
kind  by  itself,  as  its  claws  are  covered  over  by  a  skin.  The  rest  of 
the  numerous  tribe  of  claw-footed  animals  he  divides  into  two  kinds  ; 
the  analogous,  or  such  as  resemble  each  other ;  and  the  anomalous, 
which  differ  from  the  rest.  The  analogous  claw-footed  animals,  are 
of  two  kinds  ;  they  have  more  than  two  cutting  teeth  in  each  jaw, 
such  as  the  lion  and  the  dog,  which  are  carnivorous ;  or  they  have 
but  two  cutting  teeth  in  each  jaw;  and  these  are  chiefly  fed  upon  ve- 
getables. The  carnivorous  kinds  are  divided  into  the  great  and  little. 
The  great  carnivorous  animals  are  divided  into  such  as  hav3  a  short 
snout,  as  the  cat  and  the  lion  ;  and  such  as  have  it  long  and  pointed, 
as  The  dog  and  the  wolf.  The  little  claw-footed  carnivorous  animals, 
differ  from  the  great,  in  having  a  proportionality  smaller  head, 


ANIMALS.  271 

and  a  slender  body,  that  fits  them  for  creeping  into  holes,  in  pursuit 
of  their  prey,  like  worms ;  and  they  are  therefore  called  the  vermin 
kind. 

We  see,  from  this  sketch  of  division  and  sub-division,  how  a  sub- 
ject, extremely  delightful  and  amusing  in  itself,  may  be  darkened 
and  rendered  disgusting.  But  notwithstanding,  Ray  seems  to  be  one 
of  the  most  simple  distributors  ;  and  his  method  is  still,  and  not  with- 
out reason,  adopted  by  many.  Such  as  have  been  at  the  trouble  to 
learn  this  method,  will  certainly  find  it  useful ;  nor  would  we  bo 
thought,  in  the  least,  to  take  from  its  merits  ;  all  we  contend  for  is, 
that  the  same  information  may  be  obtained  by  a  pleasanter  and  an 
easier  method. 

It  was  the  great  success  of  Ray's  method,  that  soon  after  produced 
such  a  variety  of  attempts  in  the  same  manner  ;  but  almost  all  less 
simple,  and  more  obscure.  Mr.  Klein's  method  is  briefly  as  follows  : 
he  makes  the  power  of  changing  place,  the  characteristic  mark  of 
animals  in  general ;  and  he  lakes  their  distinctions  from  their  aptitude 
and  fitness  for  such  a  change.  Some  change  place  by  means  of 
feet,  or  some  similar  contrivance;  others  have  wings  and  feet:  some 
can  change  place  only  in  water,  and  have  only  fins :  some  go 
upon  earth,  without  any  feet  at  all :  some  change  place,  by  mov- 
ing their  shell  ;  and  some  move  only  at  a  certain  time  of  the  year. 
Of  such,  however,  as  do  not  move  at  all,  he  takes  no  notice. 
The  quadrupeds  that  move  chiefly  by  means  of  four  feet  upon 
/and,  he  divides  into  two  orders.  The  first  are  the  hoofed 
kind  ;  and  the  second,  the  claw  kind.  Each  of  these  orders  is  di- 
vided into  four  families.  The  first  family  of  the  hoofed  kind,  are  the 
singled  hoofed,  such  as  the  horse,  ass,  &c.  The  second  family  are 
such  as  have  the  hoof  cloven  into  two  parts,  such  as  the  cow,  &c. 
The  third  family  have  the  hoof  divided  into  three  parts  ;  and  in  this 
family  is  found  only  the  rhinoceros.  The  fourth  family  have  the  hoof 
divided  into  five  parts;  and  in  this  is  only  to  be  found  the  elephant. 
With  respect  to  the  clawed  kind,  the  first  family  comprehends  those 
that  have  but  two  claws  on  each  foot,  as  the  camel  ;  the  second  family 
have  three  claws  ;  the  third,  four;  and  the  fourth,  five.  This  method 
of  taking  the  distinctions  of  animals  from  the  organs  of  motion,  is 
ingenious;  but  it  is,  at  the  same  time,  incomplete;  and,  besides,  the 
divisions  into  which  it  must  necessarily  fall,  is  inadequate;  since,  for 
instance,  in  his  family  with  two  claws,  there  is  but  one  animal ; 
whereas,  in  his  family  with  five  claws,  there  are  above  a  hundred. 

Brison,  who  has  laboured  this  subject  with  great  accuracy,  divides 
animated  nature  into  nine  classes  :  namely,  quadrupeds  ;  cetaceous 
animals,  or  those  of  the  whale  kind  ;  birds  ;  reptiles,  or  those  of  the 
serpent  kind  ;  cartilaginous  fishes;  spinous  fishes;  shelled  animals ; 
insects ;  and  worms.  He  divides  the  quadrupeds  into  eighteen 
orders  ;  and  takes  their  distinctions  from  the  number  and  form  of 
their  teeth. 

But  of  all  those  whose  systems  have  been  adopted  and  admired 
Linnaeus  is  the  foremost;  as,  with  a  studied  brevity,  his  system  com- 
prehends the  greatest  variety  in  the  smallest  space. 

According  to  him,  the  first  distinction   of  animals    is    U  be 


272  A  HISTORY  OF 

from  their  internal  structure.  Some  have  the  heart  with  two  ven 
tricles,  and  hot  red  blood  ;  namely,  quadrupeds  and  birds.  The 
quadrupeds  are  viviparousj  and  the  birds  oviparous. 

Some  havo  the  heart  with  one  ventricle,  and  cold  red  blood ; 
namely,  amphibia  and  fishes.  The  amphibia  are  furnished  with  lungs ; 
the  fishes,  with  gills. 

Some  have  the  heart  with  one  ventricle,  and  cold  white  serum  ; 
namely,  insects  and  worms :  the  insects  have  feelers ;  and  the  worms, 
holders. 

The  distinctions  of  quadrupeds,  or  animals  with  paps,  as  he  calls 
them,  are  taken  from  their  teeth.  He  divides  them  into  seven  orders ; 
to  which  he  gives  names  that  are  not  easy  of  translation  :  Primates 
or  principles,  with  four  cutting  teeth  in  each  jaw  ;  Bruta,  or  brutes, 
with  no  cutting  teeth  ;  Ferae,  or  wild  beasts,  with  generally  six  cut- 
ting teeth  in  each  jaw ;  Glires,  or  dormice,  with  two  cutting  teeth, 
both  above  and  below;  Pecora,  or  cattle,  with  many  cutting  teeth 
above,  and  none  below  ;  Belluse,  or  beasts,  with  the  fore-teeth  blunt ; 
Cetae,  or  those  of  the  whale  kind,  with  cartilaginous  teeth.  I  have 
but  just  sketched  out  this  system,  as  being,  in  its  own  nature,  the 
closest  abridgment  ;  it  would  lake  volumes  to  dilate  it  to  its  proper 
length.  The  names  of  the  different  animals,  and  their  classes,  alone 
make  two  thick  octavo  volumes ;  and  yet  nothing  is  given  but  the 
slightest  description  of  each.  I  have  omitted  all  criticism  also  upon 
the  accuracy  of  the  preceding  systems :  this  has  been  done  both  by 
Buffon  and  Daubenton,  not  with  less  truth  than  humour  ;  for  they 
had  tr^  much  good  sense  not  to  see  the  absurdity  of  multiplying  the 
terms  of  science  to  no  end,  and  disappointing  our  curiosity  rather 
with  a  catalogue  of  nature's  varieties,  than  a  history  of  nature. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  taxing  the  memory  and  teazing  the  patience 
with  such  a  variety  of  divisions  and  subdivisions,  I  will  take  leave 
to  class  the  productions  of  nature  in  the  most  obvious,  though  not  in 
the  most  accurate  manner.  In  natural  history,  of  all  other  sciences; 
there  is  the  least  danger  of  obscurity.  In  morals,  or  in  metaphysics, 
every  definition  must  be  precise,  because  those  sciences  are  built  upon 
definitions  ;  but  it  is  otherwise  in  those  subjects  where  the  exhibition 
of  the  object  itself  is  always  capable  of  correcting  the  error.  Thus, 
it  may  often  happen  that  in  a  lax  system  of  natural  history,  a  creature 
may  be  ranked  among  quadrupeds  that  belongs  more  properly  to  the 
fish  or  the  insect  classes.  But  that  can  produce  very  little  confusion, 
and  every  reader  can  thus  make  a  system  the  most  agreeable  to  his 
own  imagination.  It  will  be  of  no  manner  of  consequence  whether 
we  call  a  bird  or  an  insect  a  quadruped,  if  we  are  careful  in  marking 
all  its  distinctions:  the  uncertainty  in  reasoning,  or  thinking,  that  those 
approximations  of  the  different  kinds  of  animals  produce,  is  but  very 
small,  and  happens  but  very  rarely ;  whereas  the  labour  that  natural- 
ists have  been  at  to  keep  the  kinds  asunder,  has  been  excessive 
This,  in  general,  has  given  birth  to  that  variety  of  systems  which  we 
have  just  mentioned,  each  of  which  seems  to  be  almost  as  good  as  the 
preceding. 

Taking,  therefore,  this  latitude,  and  using  method  only  where  ii 
crutributes  to  conciseness  or  r^rsnicuity,  we  shall  divide  animated 


ANIMALS.  273 

nature  into  four  classes ;  namely  Quadrupeds,  Birds,  Fishes,  and  In- 
sects. All  these  seem  in  general  pretty  well  distinguished  from  each 
other  by  nature  ;  yet  there  are  several  instances  in  which  we  can 
scarce  tell  whether  it  is  a  bird  or  a  quadruped  that  we  are  about  to 
examine  ;  whether  it  is  a  fish  or  an  insect  that  offers  to  our  curiosity. 
Nature  is  varied  by  imperceptible  gradations,  so  that  no  line  can  bo 
drawn  between  any  two  classes  of  its  productions,  and  no  definition 
made  to  comprehend  them  all.  However,  the  distinctions  between 
these  classes  are  sufficiently  marked,  and  their  encroachments  upon 
each  other  are  so  rare,  that  it  will  be  sufficient  particularly  to  apprize 
the  reader  when  they  happen  to  be  blended. 

There  are  many  quadrupeds  that  we  are  well  acquainted  with  ;  and 
of  those  we  do  not  know,  we  shall  form  the  most  clear  and  distinct 
conceptions,  by  being  told  wherein  they  differ,  and  wherein  they  re- 
semble those  with  which  we  are  familiar.  Each  class  of  quadrupeds 
may  be  ranged  under  some  one  of  the  domestic  kinds,  that  may  serve 
for  the  model  by  which  we  are  to  form  some  kind  of  idea  of  the  rest. 
Thus  we  may  say  that  a  tiger  is  of  the  cat  kind,  a  wolf  of  the  dog 
kind,  because  there  are  some  rude  resemblances  between  each  ;  and 
a  person  who  has  never  seen  the  wild  animals,  will  have  some  incom- 
plete knowledge  of  their  figure  from  the  tame  ones.  On  the  contrary, 
I  will  not,  as  some  systematic  writers  have  done,*  say  that  the  bat  is 
of  the  human  kind,  or  a  hog  of  the  horse  kind,  merely  because  there 
is  some  resemblance  in  their  teeth,  or  their  paps.  For  although  this 
resemblance  may  be  striking  enough,  yet  a  person  who  has  never  seen 
a  bat  or  a  hog,  will  never  form  any  just  conception  of  either,  by  be- 
ing told  of  this  minute  similitude.  In  short,  the  method  in  classing 
quadrupeds  should  be  taken  from  their  most  striking  resemblances 
and  where  these  do  not  offer,  we  should  not  force  the  similitude,  but 
leave  the  animal  to  be  described  as  a  solitary  species.  The  number 
of  quadrupeds  is  so  few,  that  indeed,  without  any  method  whatever, 
there  is  no  great  danger  of  confusion. 

All  quadrupeds,  the  number  of  which,  according  to  Buffbn,  amounts 
to  but  two  hundred,  may  be  classed  in  the  following  manner. 

First,  those  of  the  Horse  kind.  This  class  contains  the  Horse,  the 
Ass,  and  the  Zebra.  Of  these  none  have  horns,  and  their  hoof  is  of 
one  solid  piece. 

The  second  class  are  those  of  the  Cow  kind ;  comprehending  tne 
Urus,  the  Buffalo,  the  Bison,  and  the  Bonassus.  These  have  cloven 
hoofs,  and  chew  the  cud. 

The  third  class  is  that  of  the  Sheep  kind  :  with  cloven  hoofs,  arid 
chewing  the  cud,  like  the  former.  In  this  is  comprehended  the  Sheep, 
the  Goat,  the  Lama,  the  Vigogne,  the  Gazelle,  the  Guinea  D^er,  and 
all  of  a  similar  form. 

The  fourth  class  is  that  of  the  Deer  kind,  with  cloven  hoofs,  ami 
with  solid  horns,  that  are  shed  every  year.  This  class  contains  trie 
Elk,  the  Rein-deer,  the  Stag,  the  Buck,  the  Roebuck,  and  the  Axis. 

The  fifth  class  comprehends  all  those  of  the  Hog  kind,  the  Peccari 
and  the  Babyrouessa. 

*  Lnmaei  Syst. 


274  A  HISTORY  OF 

The  sixth  class  is  that  numerous  one  of  the  Cat  kind.  This  com 
prehends  the  Cat,  the  Lion,  the  Panther,  the  Leopard,  the  Jaguar, 
the  Cougar,  the  Jaguarettc,  the  Lynx,  the  Ounce,  and  the  Catamoun- 
tain.  These  are  all  carnivorous,  and  furnished  with  crooked  claws, 
which  they  can  sheath  and  unsheath  at  pleasure. 

The  seventh  class  is  that  of  the  Dog  kind,  carnivorous,  and  furnish 
ed  with  claws  like  the  former,  but  which  they  cannot  sheath.  This 
class  comprehends  the  Dog,  the  Wolf,  the  Fox,  the  Jackall,  the  Isa- 
tis,  the  Hyaena,  the  Civet,  the  Gibet,  and  the  Genet. 

The  eighth  class  is  that  of  the  Weasel  kind,  with  a  long  small  body, 
with  small  toes,  or  claws,  on  each  foot ;  the  first  of  them  separated 
from  the  rest  like  a  thumb.  This  comprehends  the  Weasel,  the  Mar- 
tin, the  Pole-cat,  the  Ferret,  the  Mangoust,  the  Vansire,  the  Ermine, 
with  all  the  varieties  of  the  American  Moufettes. 

The  ninth  class  is  that  of  the  Rabbit  kind,  with  two  large  cutting 
teeth  in  each  jaw.  This  comprehends  the  Rabbit,  the  Hare,  the 
Guinea-pig,  all  the  various  species  of  the  Squirrel,  the  Dormouse,  the 
Marmotte,  the  Rat,  the  Mouse,  Agouti,  the  Paca,  the  Aperea,  and  the 
Tapeti. 

The  tenth  class  is  that  of  the  Hedge-hog  kind,  with  claw  feet,  and 
covered  with  prickles,  comprehending  the  Hedge-hog,  and  the  Porcu- 
pine, the  Couando,  and  the  Urson. 

The  eleventh  class  is  that  of  the  Tortoise  kind,  covered  with  % 
shell,  or  scales  This  comprehends  the  Tortoise,  the  Pangolin,  and 
the  Phataguin. 

The  twelfth  is  that  of  the  Otter,  or  amphibious  kind,  comprehend- 
ing the  Otter,  the  Beaver,  the  Desman,  the  Morse,  and  the  Seal. 

The  thirteenth  class  is  that  of  the  Ape  and  Monkey  kinds,  with 
hands,  and  feet  resembling  hands. 

The  fourteenth  class  is  that  of  winged  quadrupeds,  or  the  Bat  kind, 
containing  the  Bat,  the  Flying-Squirrel,  and  some  other  varieties. 

The  animals  which  seem  to  approach  no  other  kind,  either  in  na- 
ture, or  in  form,  but  to  make  each  a  distinct  species  in  itself,  are  the 
following:  the  Elephant,  the  Rhinoceros,  the  Hippopotamus,  the 
Cameleopard,  the  Camel,  the  Bear,  the  Badger,  the  Tapir,  the  Cabria, 
the  Coati,  the  Antbear,  the  Tatou,  and  lastly,  the  Sloth. 

All  other  quadrupeds,  whose  names  are  not  set  down,  will  be  found 
among  some  of  the  above  mentioned  classes,  and  referred  to  that  which 
they  most  resemble.  When,  therefore,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  know  the 
name  of  any  particular  animal,  by  examining  which  of  the  known 
kinds  it  most  resembles,  either  in  shape,  or  in  hoofs,  or  claws ;  and 
then  examining  the  particular  description,  we  shall  be  able  to  discover 
not  only  its  name,  but  its  history.  I  have  already  said  that  all  methods 
of  this  kind  are  merely  arbitrary,  and  that  nature  makes  no  exact  dis- 
tinction between  her  productions.  It  is  hard,  for  instance,  to  tell 
whether  we  ought  to  refer  the  civet  to  the  dog,  or  the  cat  kind  ;  but, 
if  we  know  the  exact  history  of  the  civet,  it  is  no  great  matter  to 
which  kind  we  shall  judge  it  to  bear  the  greatest  resemblance.  It  is 
enough,  that  a  distribution  of  this  kind  excites  in  us  some  rude  out- 
lines of  the  make,  or  some  marked  similitudes  in  the  nature  of  these 
o.:iimals ;  but,  to  know  them  with  any  precision,  no  system,  or  evon 


ANIMALS  275 

description,  will  serve,  since  the  animal  itself,  or  a  good  print  of  it 
must  be  seen,  and  its  history  be  read  at  length,  before  it  can  be  saia 
to  be  known.  To  pretend  to  say  that  we  have  an  idea  of  a  quadru- 
ped, because  we  can  tell  the  number  or  the  make  of  its  teeth,  or  its 
paps,  is  as  absurd  as  if  we  should  pretend  to  distinguish  men  by  the 
buttons  of  their  clothes.  Indeed,  it  often  happens  that  the  quadruped 
itself  can  be  but  seldom  seen,  that  many  of  the  more  rare  kinds  do 
not  come  into  Europe  above  once  in  an  age,  and  some  of  them  have 
never  been  able  to  bear  the  removal ;  in  such  a  case,  therefore,  there 
is  no  other  substitute  but  a  good  print  of  the  animal,  to  give  an  idea 
of  its  figure  ;  for  no  description  whatsoever  can  answer  this  purpose 
so  well.  Mr.  Locke,  with  his  usual  good  sense,  has  observed,  that  a 
drawing  of  the  animal,  taken  from  the  life,  is  one  of  the  best  methods 
of  advancing  natural  history  ;  and  yet,  most  of  our  modern  systematic 
riters  are  content  rather  with  describing.  Descriptions,  no  doubt, 
will  go  some  way  towards  giving  an  idea  of  the  figure  of  an  animal ; 
but  they  are  certainly  much  the  longest  way  about,  and,  as  they  are  usu- 
ally managed,  much  the  most  obscure.  In  a  drawing  we  can,  at  a 
single  glance,  gather  more  instruction  than  by  a  day's  painful  investi- 
gation of  methodical  systems,  where  we  are  told  the  proportions  with 
great  exactness,  and  yet  remain  ignorant  of  the  totality.  In  fact,  this 
method  of  describing  all  things  is  a  fault  that  has  infected  many  of  our 
books  that  treat  on  the  meaner  arts,  for  this  last  age.  They  attempt 
to  teach  by  words,  what  is  only  to  be  learnt  by  practice  and  inspec- 
tion. Most  of  our  dictionaries,  and  bodies  of  arts  and  sciences,  are 
guilty  of  this  error.  Suppose,  for  instance,  it  be  requisite  to  mention 
the  manner  of  making  shoes  ;  it  is  plain  that  all  the  verbal  instructions 
in  the  world  will  never  give  an  adequate  idea  of  this  humble  art,  or 
teach  a  man  to  become  a  shoemaker.  A  day  or  two  in  a  shoemaker's 
shop  will  answer  the  end  better  than  a  whole  folio  of  instruction,  which 
.  only  serves  to  oppress  the  learner  with  the  weight  of  its  pretended 
importance.  We  have  lately  seen  a  laborious  work  carried  on  at  Pa- 
ris, with  this  only  intent  of  teaching  all  the  trades  by  description  ; 
however,  the  design  at  first  blush  seems  to  be  ill  considered  ;  and  it 
is  probable  that  very  few  advantages  will  be  derived  from  so  laborious 
an  undertaking.  With  regard  to  the  descriptions  in  natural  history, 
these,  without  all  question,  under  the  direction  of  good  sense,  are  ne- 
cessary ;  but  still  they  should  be  kept  within  proper  bounds ;  and, 
where  a  thing  may  be  much  more  easily  shown  than  described,  the 
exhibition  should  ever  precede  the  account. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

OF  QUADRUPEDS  IN  GENERAL,  COMPARED  TO  MAN. 

UPON  comparing  the  various  animals  of  the  globe  with  each  othei, 
we  shall  find  that  quadrupeds  demand  the  rank  immediately  next  our- 
selves, and  consequently  come  first  in  consideration.  The  similitude 
between  the  structure  of  their  bodies  and  ours,  those  itmthcts  \vhicl- 


276  A  HISTORY  OF 

they  enjoy  in  a  superior  degree  to  the  rest,  their  constant  services,  ot 
their  unceasing  hostilities,  all  render  them  the  foremost  objects  of  oui 
curiosity,  and  the  most  interesting  parts  of  animated  nature.  These, 
however,  although  now  so  completely  subdued,  very  probably,  in  the 
beginning,  were  nearer  upon  an  equality  with  us,  and  disputed  the 
possession  of  the  earth.  Man,  while  yet  savage  himse.f,  was  but  ill 
qualified  to  civilize  the  forest.  While  yet  naked,  unarmed,  and  with 
out  shelter,  every  wild  beast  was  a  formidable  rival ;  and  the  de- 
struction of  such  was  the  first  employment  of  heroes.  But  when  he 
began  to  multiply,  and  arts  to  accumulate,  he  soon  cleared  the  plains 
of  the  most  noxious  of  these  his  rivals;  a  part  was  taken  under  his 
protection  and  care,  while  the  rest  found  a  precarious  refuge  in  the 
burning  desert,  or  the  howling  wilderness. 

From  being  rivals,  quadrupeds  have  now  become  the  assistants  of 
man  ;  upon  them  he  devolves  the  most  laborious  employments,  and 
finds  in  them  patient  and  humble  coadjutors,  ready  to  obey,  and  content 
with  the  smallest  retribution.  It  was  not,  however,  without  long  and 
repeated  efforts  that  the  independent  spirit  of  these  animals  was 
broken ;  for  the  savage  freedom,  in  wild  animals,  is  generally  found 
to  pass  down  through  several  generations  before  it  is  totally  subdued. 
Those  cats  and  dogs  that  are  taken  from  a  state  of  natural  wildness 
in  the  forest,  still  transmit  their  fierceness  to  their  young  ;  and,  how- 
ever concealed  in  general,  it  breaks  out  upon  several  occasions. 
Thus  the  assiduity  and  application  of  man  in  bringing  them  up,  not 
only  aiters  their  disposition,  but  their  very  forms  ;  and  the  difference 
between  animals  in  a  stale  of  nature  and  domestic  tameness,  is  so 
considerable,  that  Mr.Buffon  has  taken  this  as  a  principal  distinction 
in  classing  them. 

In  taking  a  cursory  view  of  the  form  of  quadrupeds,  we  may  ea- 
sily perceive,  that  of  all  the  ranks  of  animated  nature,  they  bear  the 
nearest  resemblance  to  man.  This  similitude  will  be  found  more 
striking  when  erecting  themselves  on  their  hinder  feet,  they  are  taught 
to  walk  forward  in  an  upright  posture.  We  then  see  that  all  theii 
extremities  in  a  manner  correspond  with  ours,  and  present  us  with  a 
rude  imitation  of  our  own.  In  some  of  the  ape  kind  the  resemblance 
is  so  striking,  that  anatomists  are  puzzled  to  find  in  what  part  of  the 
human  body  man's  superiority  consists  ;  and  scarce  any  but  the  me- 
taphysician can  draw  the  line  that  ultimately  divides  them. 

But  if  we  compare  their  internal  structure  with  our  own,  the  like- 
ness will  be  found  still  to  increase,  and  we  shall  perceive  many  ad- 
vantages they  enjoy  in  common  with  us,  above  the  lower  tribes  of 
nature.  Like  us,  they  are  placed  above  the  class  of  birds,  by  bring- 
ing forth  their  young  alive  ;  like  us,  they  are  placed  above  the  class 
of  fishes,  by  breathing  through  the  lungs  ;  like  us,  they  are  placed 
above  the  class  of  insects,  by  having  red  blood  circulating  through 
their  veins  ;  and  lastly,  like  us,  they  are  different  from  almost  all  the 
other  classes  of  animated  nature,  being  either  wholly  or  partly  co- 
vered with  hair.  Thus  nearly  are  we  represented  in  point  of  confor- 
mation to  the  class  of  animals  immediately  below  us  ;  and  this  show* 
what  little  reason  we  have  to  be  proud  of  our  persons  alone,  to  the 
perfection  of  which  quadrupeds  make  such  very  near  approaches. 


ANIMALS.  277 

The  similitude  of  quadrupeds  to  man  obtains  also  in  the  fixedness 
of  their  nature,  and  their  being  less  apt  to  be  changed  by  the  influ- 
ence of  climate  or  food,  than  the  lower  ranks  of  nature.*  Birds  are 
vbund  very  apt  to  alter  both  in  colour  and  size  ;  fishes,  likewise,  still 
more  ;  insects  may  be  quickly  brought  to  change  and  adapt  them- 
selves to  the  climate  ;  and  if  we  descend  to  plants,  which  may  be 
allowed  to  have  a  kind  of  living  existence,  their  kinds  may  be  sur- 
prisingly and  readily  altered,  and  taught  to  assume  new  forms.  The 
figure  of  every  animal  may  be  considered  as  a  kind  of  drapery,  which 
it  may  be  made  to  put  on  or  off  by  human  assiduity ;  in  man  the 
drapery  is  almost  invariable  ;  in  quadrupeds  it  admits  of  some  va- 
riation ;  and  the  variety  may  be  made  greater  still,  as  we  descend  to 
the  inferior  classes  of  animal  existence. 

Quadrupeds,  although  they  are  thus  strongly  marked,  and  in  ge- 
neral divided  from  the  various  kinds  around  them,  yet  some  of  them 
are  often  of  so  equivocal  a  nature,  that  it  is  hard  to  tell  whether  they 
ought  to  be  ranked  in  the  quadruped  class,  or  degraded  to  those  below 
them.  If,  for  instance,  we  were  to  marshal  the  whole  group  of  ani- 
mals round  man,  placing  the  most  perfect  next  him,  and  those  most 
equivocal  near  the  classes  they  most  approach,  we  should  find  it  dif- 
ficult, after  the  principal  had  taken  their  stations  near  him,  where  to 
place  many  that  lie  at  the  out-skirts  of  this  phalanx.  The  bat  makes 
a  near  approach  to  the  aerial  tribe,  and  might,  by  some,  be  reckoned 
among  the  birds.  The  porcupine  has  not  less  pretensions  to  that 
class,  being  covered  with  quills,  and  showing  that  birds  are  not  the 
only  part  of  nature  that  are  furnished  with  such  a  defence.  The. 
armadillo  might  be  referred  to  the  tribe  of  insects,  or  snails,  being, 
like  them,  covered  with  a  shell  ;  the  seal  and  the  morse  might  be 
ranked  among  the  fishes,  like  them  being  furnished  with  fins,  and 
almost  constantly  residing  in  the  same  element.  All  these,  the  far- 
ther they  recede  from  the  human  figure,  become  less  perfect,  and 
may  be  considered  as  the  lowest  kinds  of  that  class  to  which  we  have 
referred  them. 

But  although  the  variety  in  quadrupeds  is  thus  great,  they  all  seem 
well  adapted  to  the  stations  in  which  they  are  placed.  There  is 
scarce  one  of  them,  how  rudely  shaped  soever,  that  is  not  formed  to 
enjoy  a  state  of  happiness  fitted  to  its  nature.  All  its  deformities  are 
only  relative  to  us,  but  all  its  enjoyments  are  peculiarly  its  own. 
We  may  superficially  suppose  the  sloth,  that  takes  up  months  in 
climbing  a  single  tree,  or  the  mole,  whose  eyes  are  too  small  for 
distinct  vision,  are  wretched  and  helpless  creatures;  but  it  is  probable 
that  their  life,  with  respect  to  themselves,  is  a  life  of  luxury ;  the 
most  pleasing  food  is  easily  obtained ;  and  as  they  are  abridged 
in  one  pleasure,  it  may  be  doubled  in  those  which  remain. 
Quadrupeds,  and  all  the  lower  kinds  of  animals,  have,  at  worst, 
but  the  torments  of  immediate  evil  to  encounter,  and  this  is 
but  transient  and  accidental ;  man  has  two  sources  of  calamity, 
thai  which  he  foresees,  as  well  as  that  which  he  feels ;  so  tnit  U 

*  Buffon,  vol.  xviii.  p.  179. 


278  A  HISTORY  OF 

\\\s  reward  were  to  be  in  this  life  alone,  then  indeed   would  he    be,  of 
all  beings  the  most  wretched. 

The  heads  of  quadrupeds,  though  differing  from  each  other,  are,  in 
general,  adapted  to  their  way  of  living.  In  some  it  is  sharp,  the  bev 
ter  to  fit  the  animal  for  turning  up  the  earth  in  which  its  food  lies.  In 
some  it  is  long,  in  order  to  give  a  greater  room  for  the  olfactory 
nerves,  as  in  dogs,  who  are  to  hunt  and  find  out  their  prey  by  the 
scent.  In  otners  it  is  short  and  thick,  as  in  the  lion,  to  increase  the 
strength  of  the  jaw,  and  to  fit  it  the  better  for  combat.  In  quadrupeds 
tnat  feed  upon  grass,  they  are  enabled  to  hold  down  their  heads  to 
the  ground,  by  a  strong  tendinous  ligament,  that  runs  from  the  head 
to  the  middle  of  the  back.  This  serves  to  raise  the  head,  although  it 
has  been  he.d  to  the  ground  for  several  hours,  without  any  labour,  or 
any  assistance  from  the  muscles  of  the  neck. 

The  teeth  of  all  animals  are  entirely  fitted  to  the  nature  of  their 
food.  Those  of  such  as  live  upon  flesh  differ  in  every  respect  from 
such  as  live  upon  vegetables.  In  the  latter,  they  seem  entirely  made 
for  gathering  and  bruising  their  simple  food,  being  edged  before,  and 
fitted  for  cutting ;  but  broad  towards  the  back  of  the  jaw,  and  fitted 
for  pounding.  In  the  carnivorous  kinds,  they  are  sharp  before,  and 
fitted  rather  for  holding,  than  dividing.  In  the  one  the  teeth  serve  as 
grindstones ;  in  the  other  as  weapons  of  defence  ;  in  both,  however, 
the  surface  of  those  teeth  which  serve  for  grinding,  are  unequal ;  the 
cavities  and  risings  fitting  those  of  the  opposite,  so  as  to  tally  exactlv 
when  the  jaws  are  brought  together.  These  inequalities  oetter  serve 
for  comminuting  the  food  ;  but  they  become  smooth  with  age ;  and, 
for  this  reason,  old  animals  take  a  longer  time  to  chew  their  food  than  ' 
such  as  are  in  the  vigour  of  life. 

Their  le<rs  are  not  better  fitted  than  their  teeth  to  their  respective 
wants  or  enjoyments.  In  some  they  are  made  for  strength  only,  and 
to  support  a  vast  unwieldy  frame,  without  much  flexibility  or  beauti- 
ful proportion.  Thus  the  legs  of  the  elephant,  the  rhinoceros,  and 
the  sea-horse,  resemble  pillars ;  were  they  made  smaller,  they  would 
be  unfit  to  support  the  body  ;  were  they  endowed  with  greater  flexi- 
bility, or  swiftness,  that  would  be  needless,  as  they  do  not  pursue 
other  animals  for  food  ;  and,  conscious  of  their  own  superior  strength, 
there  are  none  that  they  deign  to  avoid.  Deers,  hares,  and  other 
creatures,  that  are  to  find  safety  only  in  flight,  have  their  legs  made 
entirely  for  speed ;  they  are  slender  and  nervous.  Were  it  not  for 
this  advantage,  every  carnivorous  animal  would  soon  make  them  a 
prey,  and  their  races  would  be  entirely  extinguished.  But,  in  the 
present  stare  01  nature,  the  means  of  safety  are  rather  superior  to  those 
of  offence ;  and  the  pursuing  animal  must  owe  success  only  to  patience, 
perseverance,  and  industry.  The  feet  of  some,  that  live  upon  fish 
alone,  are  made  for  swimming.  The  to'es  of  these  animals  are  joined 
together  with  membranes,  being  web-footed,  like  a  goose  or  a  duck, 
by  which  they  swim  with  great  rapidity.  Those  anim-als  that  lead  a 
life  of  hostility,  and  live  upon  others,  have  their  feet  armed  with  sharp 
claws,  which  some  can  sheath  and  unsheath  at  will.  Those,  on  the 
contrary  who  lead  peaceful  lives,  have  generally  hoofs,  which  serve 
<«nmn  ri<>  weapons  of  defence ;  and  which,  in  all,  are  better  fitted  foi 


ANIMALS.  279 

traversing  extensive  tracts  of  rugged  country,  than  the  claw-foot  of 
their  pursuers. 

The  stomach  is  generally  proportioned  to  the  quality  of  the  ani- 
mal's food,  or  the  ease  with  which  it  is  obtained.  In  those  that  live 
upon  flesh,  and  such  nourishing  substances,  it  is  small  and  glandular, 
affording  such  juices  as  are  best  adapted  to  digest  its  contents ;  their 
intestines,  also,  are  short,  and  without  fatness.  On  the  contrary,  such 
animals  as  feed  entirely  upon  vegetables,  have  the  stomach  very  large; 
and  those  who  chew  the  cud  have  no  less  than  four  stomachs,  all 
which  serve  as  so  many  laboratories,  to  prepare  and  turn  their  coarse 
food  into  proper  nourishment.  In  Africa,  where  the  plants  afford 
greater  nourishment  than  in  our  temperate  climates,  several  animals, 
that  with  us  have  four  stomachs,  have  there  but  two.*  However,  in 
all  animals  the  size  of  the  intestines  are  proportioned  to  the  nature  of 
the  food  ;  where  that  is  furnished  in  large  quantities,  the  stomach  di- 
lates to  answer  the  increase.  In  domestic  animals,  that  are  plentiful- 
ly supplied,  it  is  large  ;  in  the  wild  animals,  that  live  precariously,  it 
is  much  more  contracted,  and  the  intestines  are  much  shorter. 

In  this  manner,  all  animals  are  fitted  by  nature  to  fill  up  some  pe- 
culiar station.  The  greatest  animals  are  made  for  an  inoffensive  life, 
to  range  the  plains  and  the  forest  without  injuring  others  ;  to  live  upon 
the  productions  of  the  earth,  the  grass  of  the  field,  or  the  tender 
branches  of  trees  These,  secure  in  their  own  strength,  neither  fly 
from  any  other  quadrupeds  nor  yet  attack  them  :  nature,  to  the  great- 
est strength,  has  added  the  most  gentle  and  harmless  dispositions ; 
without  this,  those  enormous  creatures  would  be  more  than  a  match 
for  all  the  rest  of  the  creation ;  for  what  devastation  might  not  ensue 
were  the  elephant,  or  the  rhinoceros,  or  the  buffalo,  as  fierce  and  as 
mischievous  as  the  tiger  or  the  rat?  In  order  to  oppose  these  larger 
animals,  and  in  some  measure  to  prevent  their  exuberance,  there  is  a 
species  of  the  carnivorous  kind,  of  inferior  strength  indeed,  but  ol 
greater  activity  and  cunning.  The  lion  and  the  tiger  generally  watch 
for  the  larger  kinds  of  prey,  attack  them  at  some  disadvantage,  aud 
commonly  jump  upon  them  by  surprise.  None  of  the  carnivorous 
kinds,  except  the  dog  alone,  will  make  a  voluntary  attack,  but  with 
the  odds  on  their  side.  They  are  all  cowards  by  nature,  and  usually 
catch  their  prey  by  a  bound  from  some  lurking  place,  seldom  attempt- 
ing to  invade  them  openly ;  for  the  larger  beasts  are  too  powerful  for 
them,  and  the  smaller  too  swift. 

A  lion  does  not  willingly  attack  a  horse  ;  and  then  only  when  com- 
pelled by  the  keenest  hunger.  The  combats  between  a  lion  and  a 
horse  are  frequent  enough  in  Italy ;  where  they  are  both  inclosed  in 
a  kind  of  amphitheatre,  fitted  for  that  purpose.  The  lion  always  ap- 
proaches wheeling  about,  while  the  horse  presents  his  hinder  parts  to 
the  enemy.  The  lion  in  this  manner  goes  round  and  round,  still  nar- 
rowing his  circle,  till  he  comes  to  the  proper  distance  to  make  his 
spring ;  just  at  the  time  the  lion  springs,  the  horse  lashes  with  botlt 
legs  from  behind,  and,  in  general,  the  odds  are  in  his  favour :  it  moie 
often  happening  that  the  lion  is  stunned,  and  struck  motionless  by  UK 

*  Button 


280  A  HISTORY  OF 

blow,  than  that  he  effects  his  jump  between  the  horse's  shoulders.  I* 
the  lion  is  stunned,  and  left  sprawling,  the  horse  escapes,  without  at 
tempting  to  improve  his  victory ;  but  if  the  lion  succeeds,  he  sticks  tc 
his  prey,  and  tears  the  horse  in  pieces  in  a  very  short  time. 

But  it  is  not  ameng  the  larger  animals  of  the  forest  alone,  that  tnes<> 
hostilities  are  carried  on ;  there  is  a  minuter,  and  a  still  more  treach- 
erous contest  between  the  lower  rank  of  quadrupeds.  The  panther 
hunts  for  the  sheep  and  the  goat ;  the  catamountain  for  the  hare  ci 
the  rabbit ;  and  the  wild-cat  for  the  squirrel  or  the  mouse.  In  pro- 
portion as  each  carnivorous  animal  wants  strength,  it  uses  all  the  as- 
sistance of  patience,  assiduity,  and  cunning.  However,  the  arts  01 
these  to  pursue,  are  not  so  great  as  the  tricks  of  their  prey  to  escape  • 
so  that  the  power  of  destruction  in  one  class  is  inferior  to  the  power 
of  safety  in  the  other.  Were  this  otherwise,  the  forest  would  soon  be 
dispeopled  of  the  feebler  races  of  animals  ;  and  beasts  of  prey  them- 
selves, would  want,  at  one  time,  that  subsistence  which  they  lavishly 
destroyed  at  another. 

Few  wild  animals  seek  their  prey  in  the  day-time ;  they  are  then 
generally  deterred  by  their  fears  of  man  in  the  inhabited  countries, 
and  by  the  excessive  heat  of  the  sun  in  those  extensive  forests  that  lie 
towards  the  south,  and  in  which  they  reign  the  undisputed  tyrants. 
As  soon,  therefore,  as  the  morning  appears,  the  carnivorous  animals 
retire  to  their  dens  ;  and  the  elephant,  the  horse,  the  deer,  and  all  the 
hare  kinds,  those  inoffensive  tenants  of  the  plain,  make  their  appear- 
ance. But  again,  at  night-fall,  the  state  of  hostility  begins ;  the  whole 
forest  then  echoes  to  a  variety  of  different  bowlings.  Nothing  can  be 
more  terrible  than  an  African  landscape  at  the  close  of  evening  ;  the 
deep-toned  roarings  of  the  lion  ;  the  shriller  yellings  of  the  tiger  ;  the 
jackall,  pursuing  by  the  scent,  and  barking  like  a  dog ;  the  hyena, 
with  a  note  peculiarly  solitary  and  dreadful ;  but  above  all,  the  hiss- 
ing of  the  various  kinds  of  serpents  that  then  begin  their  call,  and,  as 
I  am  assured,  make  a  much  louder  symphony  than  the  birds  in  our 
groves  in  a  morning. 

Beasts  of  prey  seldom  devour  each  other ;  nor  can  any  thing  but 
the  greatest  degree  of  hunger  induce  them  to  it.  What  they  chiefly 
seek  after,  is  the  deer,  or  the  goat  ;  those  harmless  creatures,  that 
seem  made  to  embellish  nature.  These  are  either  pursued  or  surpri- 
sed, and  afford  the  most  agreeable  repast  to  their  destroyers.  The 
most  usual  method  with  even  the  fiercest  animals,  is  to  hide  and 
crouch  near  some  path  frequented  by  their  prey ;  or  some  water 
where  cattle  come  to  drink  ;  and  seize  them  at  once  with  a  bound 
The  lion  and  the  tiger  leap  twenty  feet  at  a  spring ;  and  this,  rather 
than  their  swiftness  or  strength,  is  what  they  have  most  to  depend  upon 
for  a  supply.  There  is  scarce  one  of  the  deer  or  hare  kind,  that  is 
not  very  easily  capable  of  escaping  them  by  its  swiftness ;  so  that 
whenever  any  of  these  fall  a  prey,  it  must  be  owing  to  their  own  in- 
-ttention. 

But  there  is  another  class  of  the  carnivorous  kind,  that  hunt  by  the 
ucent,  and  which  it  is  much  more  difficult  to  escape.  It  is  remarkable 
that  all  animals  of  this  kind  pursue  in  a  pack ;  and  encourage  each 
'tther  by  their  mutual  cries.  The  jackall,  the  syagush,  the  wolf,  and 


ANIMALS.  28 1 

the  dog,  are  of  this  kind  ;  they  pursue  with  patience  rather  than  swift- 
ness ;  their  prey  flies  at  first,  and  leaves  them  for  miles  behind  ;  but 
they  keep  on  with  a  constant  steady  pace,  and  excite  each  other  by  a 
general  spirit  of  industry  and  emulation,  till  at  last  they  share  the 
common  plunder.  But  it  too  often  happens,  that  the  larger  beasts  of 
prey,  when  they  hear  a  cry  of  this  kind  begun,  pursue  the  pack,  and 
when  they  have  hunted  down  the  animal,  come  in  and  monopolize  the 
spoil.  This  has  given  rise  to  the  report  of  the  jackall's  being  the 
lion's  provider ;  when  the  reality  is,  that  the  jackall  hunts  for  itself, 
and  the  lion  is  an  unwelcome  intruder  upon  the  fruit  of  his  toil. 

Nevertheless,  with  all  the  powers  which  carnivorous  animals  are 
possessed  of,  they  generally  lead  a  life  of  famine  and  fatigue.  Their 
prey  has  such  a  variety  of  methods  for  escaping,  that  they  sometimes 
continue  without  food  for  a  fortnight  together  :  but  nature  has  endowed 
them  with  a  degree  of  patience  equal  to  the  severity  of  their  state  ; 
so  that  as  their  subsistence  is  precarious,  their  appetites  are  comply- 
ing. They  usually  seize  their  prey  with  a  roar,  either  of  seeming  de- 
light, or  perhaps  to  terrify  it  from  resistance.  They  frequently  de- 
vour it,  bones  and  all,  in  the  most  ravenous  manner ;  and  then  retire 
to  their  dens,  continuing  inactive  till  the  calls  of  hunger  again  excite 
their  courage  and  industry.  But  as  all  their  methods  of  pursuit  are 
counteracted  by  the  arts  of  evasion,  they  often  continue  to  range  with- 
out success,  supporting  a  state  of  famine  for  several  days,  nay,  some- 
times weeks  together.  Of  their  prey,  some  find  protection  in  holes, 
in  which  nature  has  directed  them  to  bury  themselves;  some  find 
safety  by  swiftness ;  and  surh  as  are  possessed  of  neither  of  these  ad- 
vantages, generally  herd  together,  and  endeavour  to  repel  invasion  by 
united  force.  The  very  sheep,  which  to  us  seem  so  defenceless,  are 
by  no  means  so  in  a  state  of  nature  ;  they  are  furnished  with  arms  of 
defence,  and  a  very  great  degree  of  swiftness  ;  but  they  are  still  fur 
ther  assisted  by  their  spirit  of  mutual  defence  :  the  females  fall  into 
the  centre ;  and  the  males,  forming  a  ring  round  them,  oppose  their 
horns  to  the  assailants.  Some  animals  that  feed  upon  fruits  which  are 
to  be  found  only  at  one  time  of  the  year,  fill  their  holes  with  several 
sorts  of  plants,  which  enable  them  to  lie  concealed  during  the  hard 
frosts  of  the  winter,  contented  with  their  prison,  since  it  affords  them 
plenty  and  protection.  These  holes  are  dug  with  so  much  art,  that 
there  seems  the  design  of  an  architect  in  the  formation.  There  are 
usually  two  apertures,  by  one  of  which  the  little  inhabitant  can  always 
escape,  when  the  enemy  is  in  possession  of  the  other.  Many  creatures 
are  equally  careful  of  avoiding  their  enemies,  by  placing  a  sentinel  to 
warn  them  of  the  approach  of  danger.  These  generally  perform  this 
duty  by  turns ;  and  they  know  how  to  punish  such  as  have  neglected 
'heir  post,  or  have  been  unmindful  of  the  common  safety.  Such  are 
a  part  of  the  efforts  that  the  weaker  races  of  quadrupeds  exert,  1o 
avoid  their  invaders ;  and,  in  general,  they  are  attended  with  success. 
The  arts  of  instinct  are  most  commonly  found  an  overmatch  for  the 
invasions  of  instinct.  Man  is  the  only  creature  against  whom  all  their 
little  tricks  cannot  prevail.  Wherever  he  has  spread  his  dominionr 
scarce  any  flight  can  save,  or  any  retreat  harbour  ;  wherever  he  com\;s, 
terror  seems  to  follow,  and  all  society  ceases  among  the  inferior  te« 


282  A  HISTORY  OF 

ants  of  the  plain ;  their  union  against  him  can  yield  them  no  protec 
tion,  and  their  cunning  is  but  weakness.  In  their  fellow  brutes,  thev 
have  an  enemy  whom  they  can  oppose  with  an  equality  of  advantage 
they  can  oppose  fraud  or  swiftness  to  force ;  or  numbers  to  invasion 
but  what  can  be  done  against  such  an  enemy  as  man,  who  finds  them 
out,  though  unseen,  and  though  remote,  destroys  them  ?  Wherever 
he  comes,  all  the  contest  among  the  meaner  ranks  seems  to  be  at  an 
end,  or  is  carried  on  only  by  surprise.  Such  as  he  has  thought  proper 
to  protect,  have  calmly  submitted  to  his  protection  ;  such  as  he  has 
found  it  convenient  to  destroy,  carry  on  an  unequal  war,  and  their 
numbers  are  every  day  decreasing. 

The  wild  animal  is  subject  to  few  alterations ;  and,  in  a  state  of 
savage  nature,  continues  for  ages  the  same,  in  size,  shape,  and  colour. 
But  it  is  otherwise  when  subdued,  and  taken  under  the  protection  of 
man  ;  its  external  form,  and  even  its  internal  structure,  are  altered  by 
human  assiduity :  and  this  is  one  of  the  first  and  greatest  causes  of 
the  variety  that  we  see  among  the  several  quadrupeds  of  the  same 
species.  Man  appears  to  have  changed  the  very  nature  of  domestic 
animals,  by  cultivation  and  care.  A  domestic  animal  is  a  slave  that 
seems  to  have  few  other  desires  but  such  as  man  is  willing  to  allow  it. 
Humble,  patient,  resigned,  and  attentive,  it  fills  up  the  duties  of  its 
station  ;  ready  for  labour,  and  content  with  subsistence. 

Almost  all  domestic  animals  seem  to  bear  the  marks  of  servitude 
strong  upon  them.  All  the  varieties  in  their  colour,  all  the  fineness 
and  length  of  their  hair,  together  with  the  depending  length  of  their 
ears,  seem  to  have  arisen  from  a  long  continuance  of  domestic  slavery. 
What  an  immense  variety  is  there  to  be  found  in  the  ordinary  race  of 
dogs  and  horses  !  the  principal  differences  of  whichhavebeen  effected 
by  the  industry  of  man,  so  adapting  the  food,  the  treatment,  the  la- 
oour,  and  the  climate,  that  nature  seems  almost  to  have  forgotten  her 
original  design  ;  and  the  tame  animal  no  longer  bears  any  resemblance 
to  its  ancestors  in  the  woods  around  them. 

In  this  manner  nature  is  under  a  kind  of  constraint,  in  those  animals 
we  have  taught  to  live  in  a  state  of  servitude  near  us.  The  savage 
animals  preserve  the  marks  of  their  first  formation  ;  their  colours  are 
generally  the  same  ;  a  rough  dusky  brown,  or  a  tawny,  seem  almost 
their  only  varieties.  But  it  is  otherwise  in  the  tame  ;  their  colour? 
are  various,  and  their  forms  different  from  each  other.  The  nature 
of  the  climate,  indeed,  operates  upon  all ;  but  more  particularly  on 
these.  That  nourishment  which  is  prepared  by  the  hand  of  man,  not 
adapted  to  their  appetites,  but  to  suit  his  own  convenience,  that  cli- 
mate, the  rigours  of  which  he  can  soften,  and  that  employment  to 
which  they  are  sometimes  assigned,  produce  a  number  of  distinctions 
that  are  not  to  be  found  among  the  savage  animals.  These  at  first 
were  accidental,  but  in  tinao  became  hereditary ;  and  a  new  race  of 
artificial  monsters  are  propagated,  rather  to  answer  the  purposes  of 
human  pleasure,  than  their  own  convenience.  In  short,  their  \cry 
appetites  may  be  changed  ;  and  those  that  feed  only  upon  grass  may 
be  rendered  carnivorous.  I  have  seen  a  sheep  that  would  pat  flesh, 
and  a  horse  that  was  fond  of  oysters. 


ANIMALS.  283 

But  not  their  appetites,  or  their  figure  alone,  but  their  very  dispo- 
sitions, and  their  natural  sagacity,  are  altered  by  the  vicinity  of  man 
In  those  countries  where  men  have  seldom  intruded,  some  animals 
nave  been  found,  established  in  a  kind  of  civil  state  of  society.  Re- 
mote from  the  tyranny  of  man,  they  seem  to  have  a  spirit  of  mutual 
benevolence,  and  mutual  friendship.  The  beavers,  in  these  distant 
solitudes,  are  known  to  build  like  architects,  and  rule  like  citizens. 
The  habitations  that  these  have  been  seen  to  erect,  exceed  the  houses 
of  the  human  inhabitants  of  the  same  country,  both  in  neatness  and 
convenience.  But  as  soon  as  man  intrudes  upon  their  society,  they 
seem  impressed  with  the  terrors  of  their  inferior  situation,  their  spirit 
of  society  ceases,  the  bond  is  dissolved,  and  every  animal  looks  for 
safety  in  solitude,  and  there  tries  all  its  little  industry  to  shift  only  for 
itself. 

Next  to  human  influence,  the  climate  seems  to  have  the  strongest 
effects  both  upon  the  nature  and  form  of  quadrupeds.  As  in  man,  we 
have  seen  some  alterations,  produced  by  the  variety  of  his  situation  ; 
so  in  the  lower  ranks,  that  are  more  subject  to  variation,  the  influence 
of  climate  is  more  readily  perceived.  As  these  are  more  nearly  at- 
tached to  the  earth,  and  in  a  manner  connected  to  the  soil ;  as  they 
have  none  of  the  arts  of  shielding  off  the  inclemency  of  the  weather, 
or  softening  the  rigours  of  the  sun,  they  are  consequently  more 
changed  by  variations.  In  general,  it  may  be  remarked,  that  the 
colder  the  country,  the  larger  and  the  warmer  is  the  fur  of  each  ani- 
mal ;  it  being  wisely  provided  by  nature,  that  the  inhabitant  should 
be  adapted  to  the  rigours  of  its  situation.  Thus,  the  fox  and  wolf, 
which  in  temperate  climates  have  but  short  hair,  have  a  fine  long  fur 
in  the  frozen  regions,  near  the  pole.  On  the  contrary,  those  dogs 
which  with  us  have  long  hair,  when  carried  to  Guinea,  or  Angola,  in 
a  short  time  cast  their  thick  covering,  and  assume  a  lighter  dress,  and 
one  more  adapted  to  the  warmth  of  the  country.  The  beaver,  and 
the  ermine,  which  are  found  in  the  greatest  plenty  in  the  cold  regions, 
are  remarkable  for  the  warmth  and  delicacy  of  their  furs ;  while  the 
elephant,  and  the  rhinoceros,  that  are  natives  of  the  line,  have  scarce 
any  hair.  Not  but  that  human  nature  can,  in  some  measure,  co-ope- 
rate with,  or  repress  the  effects  of  climate  in  this  particular.  It  is 
well  known  what  alterations  are  produced,  by  proper  care,  in  the 
sheep's  fleece,  in  different  parts  of  our  own  country ;  and  the  same 
industry  is  pursued  with  a  like  success  in  Syria,  where  many  of  their 
animals  are  clothed  with  a  long  and  beautiful  hair,  which  they  take 
care  to  improve,  as  they  work  it  into  that  stuff  called  camblet,  so  well 
known  in  different  parts  of  Europe. 

The  disposition  of  the  animal  seems  also  not  less  marked  by  the 
climate  than  the  figure.  The  same  causes  that  seem  to  have  ren- 
dered the  human  inhabitants  of  the  rigorous  climates  savage  and 
ignorant,  have  also  operated  upon  their  animals.  Both  at  the  line 
and  the  pole,  the  wild  quadrupeds  are  fierce  and  untameable  In 
these  latitudes,  their  savage  dispositions  having  not  been  quelled  by 
any  afforts  from  man,  and  being  still  farther  stimulated  by  the  seve- 
rity of  the  weather,  thev  continue  fierce  and  untractable.  Most  ol 
the  attempts  which  hive  hitherto  been  made  to  tame  the  wild  beasts 


284  A  HISTORY  OF 

brougnt  home  from  the  pole  or  the  equator,  have  proved  inef- 
fectual. They  are  gentle  and  harmless  enough  while  young ;  but  as 
they  grow  up,  they  acquire  their  natural  ferocity,  and  snap  at  the 
hand  that  feeds  them.  It  may  indeed,  in  general,  be  asserted,  that  in 
all  countries  where  the  men  are  most  barbarous,  the  beasts  are  most 
fierce  and  cruel :  and  this  is  but  a  natural  consequence  of  the  struggle 
between  man  and  the  more  savage  animals  of  the  forest ;  for  in  pro- 
portion as  he  is  weak  and  timid,  they  must  be  bold  and  intrusive;  in 
proportion  as  his  dominion  is  but  feebly  supported,  their  rapacity  must 
be  more  obnoxious.  In  the  extensive  countries,  therefore,  lying  round 
the  pole,  or  beneath  the  line,  the  quadrupeds  are  fierce  and  formidable. 
Africa  has  ever  been  remarked  for  the  brutality  of  its  men,  and  the 
fierceness  of  its  animals  :  its  lions  and  its  leopards  are  not  less  terrible 
than  its  crocodiles  and  its  serpents ;  their  dispositions  seem  entirely 
marked  with  the  rigours  of  the  climate,  and  being  bred  in  an  extreme 
of  heat,  they  show  a  peculiar  ferocity,  that  neither  the  force  of  man 
can  conquer,  nor  his  arts  allay.  However,  it  is  happy  for  the  wretched 
inhabitants  of  those  climates,  that  its  most  formidable  animals  are  all 
solitary  ones ;  that  they  have  not  learnt  the  art  of  uniting,  to  oppress 
mankind  ;  but  each  depending  on  its  own  strength,  invades  without 
any  assistant. 

The  food  also  is  another  cause  in  the  variety,  which  we  find  among 
quadrupeds  of  the  same  kind.  Thus  the  beasts  which  feed  in  the  val- 
ley are  generally  larger  than  those  which  glean  a  scanty  subsistence 
on  the  mountain.  Such  as  live  in  the  warm  climates,  where  the  plants 
are  much  larger  and  more  succulent  than  with  us,  are  equally  remark- 
able for  their  bulk.  The  ox  fed  in  the  plains  of  Indostan,  is  much 
larger  than  that  which  is  more  hardly  maintained  on  the  side  of  the 
Alps.  The  deserts  of  Africa,  where  the  plants  are  extremly  nourish- 
ing, produce  the  largest  and  fiercest  animals  ;  and,  perhaps  for  a  con- 
trary reason,  America  is  found  not  to  produce  such  large  animals  as 
aje  seen  in  the  ancient  continent.  But,  whatever  be  the  reason,  the 
fact  is  certain,  that  while  America  exceeds  us  in  the  size  of  its  reptiles 
of  all  kinds,  it  is  far  inferior  in  its  quadruped  productions.  Thus,  for 
instance,  the  largest  animal  of  that  country  is  the  tapir,  which  can  by 
no  means  be  compared  to  the  elephant  of  Africa.  Its  beasts  of  prey 
also,  are  devested  of  that  strength  and  courage  which  is  so  dangerous 
in  this  part  of  the  world.  The  American  lion,  tiger,  and  leopard,  if 
such  diminutive  creatures  deserve  these  names,  are  neither  so  fierce 
nor  so  valiant  as  those  of  Africa  and  Asia.  The  tiger  of  Bengal  has 
been  seen  to  measure  twelve  feet  in  length,  without  including  the  tail ; 
tvhereas  the  American  tiger  seldom  exceeds  three.  This  difference 
obtains  still  more  in  the  other  animals  of  that  country,  so  that  some 
have  been  of  opinion*  that  all  the  quadrupeds  in  Southern  America 
are  of  a  different  species  from  those  most  resembling  them  in  the  old 
world  ;  and  that  there  are  none  which  are  common  to  both  but  such 
as  have  entered  Ameiica  by  the  north  ;  and  which,  being  able  to  bear 
the  rigours  of  the  frozen  pole,  have  travelled  from  the  ancient  conti- 
nent, by  that  passage,  into  the  new.  Thus  the  bear,  the  wolf,  the  elk, 

«  Buffoa 


ANIMALS.  285 

tbe  stag,  the  fox,  and  the  beaver,  are  known  to  the  inhabitants  as  well 
of  North  America  as  of  Russia  ;  while  most  of  the  various  kinds  to  the 
southward,  in  both  continents,  bear  no  resemblance  to  each  other. 
Upon  the  whole,  such  as  peculiarly  belong  to  the  new  continent,  are 
without  any  marks  of  the  quadruped  perfection.  They  are  almost 
wholly  destitute  of  the  power  of  defence ;  they  have  neither  formid- 
able teeth,  horns,  or  tail ;-  their  figure  is  awkward,  and  their  limbs  ill 
proportioned.  Some  among  them,  such  as  the  ant-bear,  and  the  sloth, 
appear  so  miserably  formed,  as  scarce  to  have  the  power  of  moving 
and  eating.  They  seemingly  drag  out  a  miserable  and  languid  exist- 
ence in  the  most  desert  solitude,  and  would  quickly  have  been  de- 
stroyed in  a  country  where  there  were  inhabitants,  or  powerful  beasts 
to  oppose  them. 

But,  if  the  quadrupeds  of  the  r?w  continent  be  less,  they  are  found 
in  much  greater  abundance ;  for  it  is  a  rule  that  obtains  through  na- 
ture, that  the  smallest  animals  multiply  the  fastest.  The  goat,  im- 
ported from  Europe  to  South  America,  soon  begins  to  degenerate  ; 
but  as  it  grows  less  it  becomes  more  prolific ;  and,  instead  of  one  kid 
at  a  time,  or  two  at  the  most,  it  generally  produces  five,  and  sometimes 
more.  What  there  is  in  the  food,  or  the  climate,  that  produces  this 
change,  we  have  not  been  able  to  learn ;  we  might  be  apt  to  ascribe 
it  to  the  heat,  but  that  on  the  African  coast,  where  it  is  still  hotter, 
this  rule  does  not  obtain  ;  for  the  goat,  instead  of  degenerating  there, 
seems  rather  to  improve. 

However,  the  rule  is  general  among  all  quadrupeds,  that  those  which 
are  large  and  formidable  produce  but  few  at  a  time ;  while  such  as 
are  mean  and  contemptible  are  extremely  prolific.  The  lion,  or  tiger, 
have  seldom  above  two  cubs  at  a  litter ;  while  the  cat,  that  is  of  a 
similar  nature,  is  usually  seen  to  have  five  or  six.  In  this  manner  the 
lower  tribes  become  extremely  numerous ;  and,  but  for  this  surprising 
fecundity,  from  their  natural  weakness  they  would  quickly  be  extirpa- 
ted. The  breed  of  mice,  for  instance,  would  have  long  since  been 
blotted  from  the  earth,  were  the  mouse  as  slow  in  the  production  as 
the  elephant.  But  it  has  been  wisely  provided  that  such  animals  as 
can  make  but  little  resistance,  should  at  least  have  a  means  of  repair- 
ing the  destruction  which  they  must  often  suffer  by  their  quick  repro- 
duction ;  that  they  should  increase  even  among  enemies,  and  multiply 
under  the  hand  of  the  destroyer.  On  the  other  hand,  it  has  as  wisely 
been  ordered  by  Providence,  that  the  larger  kinds  should  produce  but 
slowly ;  otherwise,  as  they  require  proportional  supplies  from  nature, 
they  would  quickly  consume  their  own  store ;  and,  of  consequence, 
many  of  them  would  soon  perish  through  want ;  so  that  life  would 
thus  be  given  without  the  necessary  means  of  subsistence.  In  a  word, 
Providence  has  most  wisely  balanced  the  strength  of  the  great  against 
the  weakness  of  the  little.  Since  it  was  necessary  that  some  should 
be  great  and  others  mean,  since  it  was  expedient  that  some  should  live 
upon  others,  it  has  assisted  the  weakness  of  the  one  by  granting  it 
fruitfulness ;  and  diminished  the  number  of  the  other  by  infecundity 

In  consequence  of  this  provision,  the  larger  creatures,  which  bring 
forth  few  at  a  time,  seldom  begin  to  generate  till  they  have  nearly  ac« 
onirod  their  full  growth.  On  the  contrary,  those  which  bring  many. 


286  A   HISTORY  OF 

reproduce  before  they  have  arrived  at  half  their  natural  size.  Thus 
the  horse  and  the  bull  are  nearly  at  their  best  before  they  begin  to 
breed  ;  the  hog  and  the  rabbit  scarce  leave  the  teat  before  they  be 
come  patents  in  turn.  Almost  all  animals  likewise  continue  the  time 
of  their  pregnancy  in  proportion  to  their  size.  The  mare  continues 
eleven  months  with  foal,  the  cow  nine,  the  wolf  five,  and  the  bitch 
nine  weeks.  In  all,  the  intermediate  litters  are  the  most  fruitful ;  the 
first  and  the  last  generally  producing  the  fewest  in  number,  and  the 
worst  of  the  kind. 

Whatever  be  the  natural  disposition  of  animals  at  other  times,  they 
all  acquire  new  courage  when  they  consider  themselves  as  defending 
their  young.  No  terrors  can  then  drive  them  from  the  post  of  duty ; 
the  mildest  begin  to  exert  their  little  force,  and  resist  the  most  formid- 
able enemy.  Where  resistance  is  hopeless,  they  then  incur  every 
danger,  in  order  to  rescue  their  young  by  flight,  and  retard  their  own 
expedition  by  providing  for  their  little  ones.  When  the  female  opos- 
sum, an  animal  of  America,  is  pursued,  she  instantly  takes  her  young 
into  a  false  belly,  with  which  nature  has  supplied  her,  and  carries  them 
off,  or  dies  in  the  endeavour.  I  have  been  lately  assured  of  a  she-fox, 
-which,  when  huated,  took  her  cub  in  her  mouth,  and  run  for  several 
miles  without  quitting  it,  until  at  last  she  was  forced  to  leave  it  behind, 
upon  the  approach  of  a  mastiff,  as  she  ran  through  a  farmer's  yard. 
But,  if  at  this  period  the  mildest  animals  acquire  new  fierceness,  how 
formidable  must  those  be  that  subsist  by  rapine  !  At  such  times  no 
obstacles  can  stop  their  ravage,  nor  no  threats  can  terrify  ;  the  lioness 
then  seems  more  hardy  than  even  the  lion  himself.  She  attacks  men 
and  beasts  indiscriminately,  and  carries  all  she  can  overcome  reeking 
to  her  cubs,  whom  she  thus  early  accustoms  to  slaughter.  Milk,  in 
the  carnivorous  animals,  is  much  more  sparing  than  in  others;  and  it 
may  be  for  this  reason  that  all  such  carry  home  their  prey  alive, 
that,  in  feeding  their  young,  its  blood  may  supply  the  deficiencies  of 
nature,  and  serve  instead  of  that  milk  with  which  they  are  so  sparingly 
supplied. 

Nature,  that  has  thus  given  them  courage  to  defend  their  young, 
has  given  them  instinct  to  choose  the  proper  limes  of  copulation, 
so  as  to  bring  forth  when  the  provision  suited  to  each  kind  is  to  be 
found  in  the  greatest  plenty.  The  wolf,  for  instance,  couples  in  De- 
cember, so  that  the  time  of  pregnancy  continuing  five  months,  it  may 
have  its  young  in  April.  The  mare,  who  goes  eleven  months,  admits 
the  horse  in  summer,  in  order  to  foal  about  the  beginning  of  May. 
On  the  contrary,  those  animals  which  lav  up  provisions  for  the  winter, 
such  as  thf  beaver  and  the  marmotte,  couple  in  the  latter  end  of  au- 
tumn, so  as  to  have  their  young  about  January,  against  which  season 
they  have  provided  a  very  comfortable  store.  These  seasons  for 
coupling,  however,  among  some  of  the  domestic  kinds,  are  generally 
in  consequence  of  the  quantity  of  provisions  with  which  they  are  al 
any  time  supplied.  Thus  we  may,  by  feeding  any  of  these  animals, 
nnd  keeping  off  the  rigour  of  the  climate,  make  them  breed  whenever 
we  please.  In  this  manner,  those  contrive  who  produce  lambs  all  the 
year  round 


ANIMALS.  28? 

The  choice  of  situation  in  bringing  forth  is  also  very  remarkable. 
In  most  of  the  rapacious  kinds,  the  female  takes  the  utmost  precautions 
to  hide  the  place  of  her  retreat  from  the  male,  who  otherwise,  when 
pressed  by  hunger,  would  be  apt  to  devour  her  cubs.  She  seldom, 
therefore,  strays  far  from  the  den,  and  never  approaches  it  while  he 
is  in  view,  nor  visits  him  again  till  her  young  are  capable  of  providing 
for  themselves.  Such  animals  as  are  of  tender  constitutions,  take  the 
utmost  care  to  provide  a  place  of  warmth,  as  well  as  safety,  for  their 
young ;  the  rapacious  kinds  bring  forth  in  the  thickest  woods ;  those 
that  chew  the  cud,  with  the  various  tribes  of  the  vermin  kind,  choose 
some  hiding-place  in  the  neighbourhood  of  man.  Some  dig  holes  in  the 
ground ;  some  choose  the  hollow  of  a  tree ;  and  all  the  amphibious 
kinds  bring  up  their  young  near  the  water,  and  accustom  them  betimes 
to  their  proper  element. 

Thus  nature  seems  kindly  careful  for  the  protection  of  the  meanest 
of  her  creatures :  but  there  is  one  class  of  quadrupeds  that  seems  en- 
tirely left  to  chance,  that  no  parent  stands  forth  to  protect,  nor  no  in- 
structor leads,  to  teach  the  arts  of  subsistence.  These  are  the  quad- 
rupeds that  are  brought  forth  from  the  egg,  such  as  the  lizard,  the  tor- 
toise, and  the  crocodile.  The  fecundity  of  all  other  animals,  compared 
with  these,  is  sterility  itself.  These  bring  forth  above  two  hundred  at 
a  time ;  but,  as  the  offspring  is  mors  numerous,  the  parental  care  is 
less  exerted.  Thus  the  numerous  brood  of  eggs  are,  without  farther 
solicitude,  buried  in  the  warm  sands  of  the  shore,  and  the  heat  of  the 
sun  alone  is  left  to  bring  them  to  perfection.  To  this  perfection  they 
arrive  almost  as  soon  as  disengaged  from  the  shell.  Most  of  them, 
without  any  other  guide  than  instinct,  immediately  make  to  the  water. 
In  their  passage  thither,  they  have  numberless  enemies  to  fear.  The 
birds  of  prey  that  haunt  the  shore,  the  beasts  that  accidentally  come 
there,  and  even  the  animals  that  give  them  birth,  are  known,  with  a 
strange  rapacity,  to  thin  their  numbers  as  well  as  the  rest. 

But  it  is  kindly  ordered  by  Providence,  that  these  animals,  which 
are  mostly  noxious,  should  thus  have  many  destroyers ;  were  it  not 
for  this,  by  their  extreme  fecundity,  they  would  soon  overrun  the  earth 
und  cumber  all  our  plains  with  deformity. 


END  OF  THE  FIRST  VOLUMB. 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9 — 15m-10,'48(B1039)444 


jSSk 


